Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (146 page)

It was Christmas morning and Jack, who was staying at Scar Head, would be coming to sample her cooking so she must look sharpish and see to all the vegetables. The farmhouse dresser looked so festive and cards were strung up across the
beams, the tinsel and holly sat on every ledge, the fire in the big parlour blazing. Now there were just the buckets of potatoes and carrots to peel. Her hands were frozen in the cold water but her heart was singing. Tonight she would be with Jack.

On the cold slab sat one of Uncle Tom’s geese ready to be stuffed with Auntie Florrie’s homemade forcemeat. What a blowout there was going to be. Daisy was peeling the store apples to make a sauce and there was just Gran’s pudding full of grated carrot, nuts and every spare currant to be boiled in the set boiler in the outhouse: so much to think about before they went to chapel.

Daisy was to see to the range and Gran while they were out. The dining table was already prepared with the stiffest of the damask cloths, set with china and napkins. All the cutlery sparkled, and in the centre was a cardboard and plaster sleigh full of holly and the first Christmas roses, that grew in the old croft under the wall. There were home-made crackers with no bangers inside so everyone had to shout as they pulled and pretend they were the real ones.

Mirren thought she ought to stay home but it was always the tradition to go to chapel and support the singing. Perhaps Jack would turn up with Tom and Florrie but if he had any sense he would lie and make the most of the morning. She would go and pray for forgiveness for what
she was about to do tonight given half a chance!

Once there, her mind was racing, anticipating lying in Jack’s arms, when she was jolted awake by Ben singing the next Christmas carol, drowning out these fantasies with his rich deep voice. If only it was Jack standing by her side.

Not even Hitler could spoil this Christmas, she thought, with his bombs and threats, not here at least where the family was gathered together. Only Uncle Wes and Auntie Pam were absent–and Bert, of course. If Gran could come down for the meal then everything would be as it always was for a few hours.

‘I’m ready for that goose,’ said Uncle Tom on the way home, looking at his fob watch on a chain. ‘Singing and a good sermon gives me a grand appetite.’

Too long a sermon gave Mirren a sore bum on the hard chapel benches with sit-up backs, but the minister had kept it short for once, and she needed to be getting back to see to the trimmings. Daisy was reliable but had to be told to do things. Perhaps she should have stayed at home after all.

There was a delicious aroma when they opened the back door. ‘Oh, joy in the morning!’ said Grandpa. ‘I’ll have to loosen my belt to do justice to all your efforts.’

‘Nice not to have to cook for a change,’ whispered Auntie Florrie, unpinning her best felt hat
and making for the lobby. ‘I’ll go and see to Gran and help her dress. I see our Jack’s arrived at last,’ she smiled, looking out of the window at her son standing by the wall smoking a cigarette.

‘I’ll just see to the bird,’ Mirren croaked, trying not to blush, opening the oven door gingerly to check on the roasting fowl.

Everyone had drifted into the kitchen towards the delicious smell. Ben went to fetch the ginger beer jar from the cold larder shelf, when there was an explosion of smoke and fat as the goose shot across the kitchen like a cannonball, setting everyone back on their heels. Quick as a flash Ben pulled Mirren away from the lava of fat. Auntie Florrie took one look at the mess and screamed as the hot fat bubbled over the flat tin onto the flag floor and Tom’s glass of ginger beer spilled and ignited the fat into flames.

‘I thowt this house was supposed to be teetotal.’ He looked down with surprise. It was Ben who whipped up the rag rug and dowsed the flame.

It was like a flash flood all right, Mirren just standing there yelling, ‘The goose, my poor goose! The dinner’s ruined!’ She looked round the room in horror.

‘Never mind the goose, love, we could’ve all been drowned in fat and done to a turn,’ laughed Uncle Tom. ‘Roasted in that avalanche.’

‘I’m so sorry!’ Mirren was in tears.

‘Didn’t Daisy think to drain off some of the fat out of the tin?’ whispered Auntie Florrie.

‘She didn’t say,’ said Daisy looking woebegone at Mirren.

‘Still, Adey’s floors are spotless, we can eat off them later,’ chuckled Ben, seeing the funny side of it. But Mirren was shaking her head, feeling stupid and shamed in front of the family.

‘You’ve cooked your goose and no mistake,’ added Jack, putting his arm round her. Everyone was smiling and laughing as if it was all some big joke not a humiliating disaster.

‘No one’s been injured. All’s not lost, love,’ said Grandpa Joe. ‘Wait until Adey hears this. It’ll cheer her up no end.’

Mirren rushed out into the yard, wanting to cry, taking in great gulps of air to steady her fury. How could they laugh at this disaster?

‘Come back in,’ shouted Auntie Florrie. ‘We’ve called out the lifeboat to rescue us…You did well to get it all done on time. Don’t get in a maddle on Christmas Day. If we get on us pinnies when the fat’s cooled down, we can let the bird rest a while and no harm done.’

She was only trying to help but Mirren wailed, ‘What about the veg? I can’t get at them.’

‘Dinner will be a little late this year,’ said Jack, fanning the flames of Mirren’s fury. ‘I’m sure Mam can find a few bits to keep the wolf from the door.
We’ll all muck in and make it happen, you’ll see. Don’t take on, it’s only a bird!’

Mirren sniffed back her shame, not seeing the funny side at all. The floor was like a skating rink as they crouched down to scrape off the goose fat. What a waste of precious medicine; all those jars of liniment and chest rub piled into a lump of gunge.

As if reading her thoughts, Florrie smiled. ‘Don’t worry, we can render it down again.’

The goose was laid to rest on top of the range and soon the veg were ready for the table. Everyone was full of elderberry cordial, pink-faced and making merry. Gran struggled downstairs to see what the fuss was about and had a good laugh too, which was the best medicine of all even if it was at Mirren’s expense.

‘She didn’t say,’ Daisy kept repeating to anyone who’d hear, but they were all too busy enjoying themselves to criticise.

Then Tom, Jack, Ben and Grandpa put on a floor show in their pinnies, prancing about.

‘You’ve heard about the Dying Swan,’ said Jack. ‘This is the dancing goose.’

The sight of them fooling around made Mirren’s lips quiver and burst into a smile.

‘That’s better. No tears on Christmas Day.’

The goose was rich and succulent despite its strange dance across the floor and everyone fell
on it with gusto. Adey’s Christmas pudding was up to scratch and her Christmas cake tasty, despite being a little thin on fruit this year. Uncle Tom did his usual trick of producing a ten-bob note from his mouth and pretending to choke on it.

Soon the dining table was covered in crumbs and stains and bits of cracker and silly hats, and the old folk retired to their little snug to snooze away what was left of the afternoon in peace.

Then it was time for the next lot of company to arrive, visiting farmers and their families for a party singsong and a game or two of cards. The tale of the dancing goose was told over and over again as the women cleared away the debris to start again on preparing supper. All the tensions of the day were drifting away.

It was the usual Christmas ritual: games and a day out of time, but there was still the stock to see to. Thankfully it was the men’s turn to see to them while the women prepared a supper fit for the King: rounds of cheeses, trifle with real cream topping, Christmas spice bread, cakes and cold meat with bowls of potato salad, chutney, beetroot pickle.

No one had come empty-handed. The day was going well and it was not over yet.

Mirren’s eyes followed Jack around the room. It was as if some invisible thread was spinning a web around them, a strange attraction of heat and
body, a feeling she had never experienced before of anticipation, an aching in her loins to reach out and touch the fine curve of his cheek, to bury his head in her breasts; a spark of sudden awareness that he felt the same pull of souls. Something was fizzing inside her like bubbling pop. In the bustle of busyness, toing and froing with the other women, something magical was stirring, so warm and wonderful she could hardly breathe. It separated her off from the rest of the noise and laughter. She was lost in a whirlpool of desire. All she wanted was to fall onto the rag rug into his arms and for everyone to go away so she could make the most of him. She felt like a bitch on heat.

She fingered her dress. The warm deep cherry velvet echoed her mood, shaped her body, showing off her neat waist and full bust. She might be built square but everything was in proportion. Someone wound up the old gramophone and familiar tunes took on a whole new meaning. She wanted to seal all these precious moments in a jar to take out in the long months ahead.

Jack took her by the hand and whirled her around the room until she was dizzy. She could feel his breath, and the scent of him was sweet to her nostrils. He had lost that ingrained smell of hay and farm. They glanced up at each other and smiled, a brief exchange of eyes and meanings.

Tonight we’ll be as one. This is where I belong, she sighed, feeling the touch of his fingers like electricity surging through her body. She’d never felt this urgency before. This was no gentle courtship. This was raw naked hunger. She sensed the stirring in his body and drew back. There was more on the boil than the kettle!

If only this was Hollywood, he could be Rhett to her Scarlett, Heathcliff to her Cathy, Maxim de Winter to her Rebecca, but this was Yorkshire and romance was thin on the ground except at the Plaza Picture House in Scarperton. She sometimes skived off with the Land Girls to the afternoon matinée on market day, swooning at the fancy costumes and handsome heroes. Now she had one of her very own.

Anyone could see they were smitten, and Florrie didn’t seem to mind. Jack was family but not a blood relative. Gran was too poorly to notice much these days.

It was almost a relief when everyone started to make noises about going home but not before another serving of supper and toffees. Coupons and rations were forgotten for the day. Belts were loosened, ties undone, corsets unhooked when Cragside was having a blowout. Neighbours, children, soldiers on leave squashed together for one final singsong.

Jack saved Mirren a place on the floor as
Grandpa began his ghostly monologue about the mysterious barghest, the white hound of the dale, omen of death and doom, and one of his sightings. As they crouched together she felt his hand reach out and squeeze hers tightly, his fingers caressed the inside of her palm so gently she felt herself flush with pleasure. If he had said, let’s slip away now and go to your bed, rip off our clothes and make love all night long, she would have risen, meek as a lamb and done his bidding, not caring what anyone thought.

His hand brushed her thigh lightly and she was transfixed by the sensation. It was now or never. They might never get another evening together but how was it going to happen if he went back to Scar Head?

By the time everyone lingered and chatted, it was time to take Gran up to bed and help her undress. Grandpa was tired and Jack came up with the perfect solution.

‘You have a lie-in in the morning,’ he said to the old man. ‘I’ll kip down with Ben for the night and see to some chores then. I’m good at taking orders,’ he smiled, winking at her.

Nothing more was said, just one brief exchange of nods as they parted at the top of the landing but she knew that for the first time in her life she would not be sleeping alone.

Lying in bed with not one wink of sleep in her,
she waited for the house to go quiet. She had checked that Ben had finished the rounds of the yard, settled the dogs. She could hear Daisy banking up the fire, climbing the stairs to her bedroom above. She waited and waited until she was forced to rise and put on her dressing gown and make for the parlour, but it was in darkness too. She climbed back up the stairs with a sickening lump in her throat. She had got it all wrong. She didn’t put the light back on and sighed as she flung herself on the bed.

‘Ouch!’ whispered a voice. ‘You weigh a ton!’

‘What took you so long?’ she said, not quite believing he was here at last. Her arms were around him in a second and she cradled him tight.

‘I’ve come for my Christmas present,’ he whispered. ‘Hope I’m not too late?’

There was no time to reply, for he stopped her mouth with his kisses. There was no fear in how their bodies crushed together, strained to express all they felt, and what was happening was as natural as talking and breathing. Why waste precious moments in words when bodies can do such delicious things to each other?

There was no time for coyness, only the desperate seizing of the moment. All Mirren’s scruples vanished in the primitive surge to mate and surrender.

Jack’s breath smelled of whisky and cigarettes,
a heady brew. She melted under his touch as his fingers sought out her nipples and flicked them into life. His hands moved downwards until she felt her blood turn into treacle. As he entered her she felt a searing pain and it was hard not to cry out. As he moved forwards and backwards deeper into her, the soreness fell away and then he withdrew and it was all over before she had begun to settle down and enjoy herself. There was so much to learn.

‘I’ve not taken any risks, love,’ he whispered. ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you too much but it’ll get better with practice when we’re wed.’

She pretended to hit him. ‘Is that a proposal?’ she said, her heart leaping at his words.

‘I suppose it is.’

How could something so wonderful be rationed to only those with wedding rings, she mused. Thank goodness lovemaking wasn’t on coupons. They’d have used up a whole year’s worth in one night, but who cared? Heaven knew when they would get some again but the thought of a honeymoon kept her awake all night.

Ben lay awake, seething. Jack’s camp bed was empty and he knew where he was and he was furious, jealousy and envy all mixed up. How dare Jack come home and ruin everything with his fancy talk? He’d seen them eyeing each other up
all night. He was furious with Mirren for falling for such obvious charm.