Читать книгу A Heartbeat Away - Eleanor Jones - Страница 10

Christmas. It figured higher on my undulating tide of memories than any other time. It was almost Christmas when my mom arrived home, a poor sad shadow of the person who’d gone away, and it was Christmas when my dad returned to haunt her.

We lived just down the lane from the Browns now, at Box Tree Cottage. My mom had said that we had to move because my dad lost our other house, but that can’t have been true because it was still there; I saw it every morning on my way to school. I liked Box Tree Cottage, though. You could see the fells from my bedroom window.

I had only one present on our first Christmas there. It was from my mom, and it lay beneath the tree that Mr. Brown had brought us. Mrs. Brown and Daniel had helped decorate it on Christmas Eve. While we two children hung baubles on its spiky branches and breathed in the scent of fresh pine, the excitement that only Christmas can kindle bubbled up inside us, turning the sparkling decorations into something truly magical.

Mrs. Brown stood on a wooden chair to put tinsel right at the top of the tree, then she jumped down, rummaged in the big box of decorations and withdrew a small figure all dressed in silvery white, with gossamer wings and golden hair.

“Come on, Mary,” she insisted, holding the decoration out toward my mom. “Why don’t you put the fairy on the top.”

My mom was sitting in her high-backed chair, staring into the crackling flames of the fire with a distant expression in her eyes. It was nothing, though, compared with the pinched anger they had used to show, and anything was better than the wild desperation that had been so frightening just before she went away. So I didn’t mind a bit—at least she didn’t shout at me anymore—and sometimes I almost felt sorry for her she looked so sad and gray.

Mrs. Brown had arrived with Daniel shortly after the lunchtime program on TV finished, to find my mom sitting in the cold dark living room while I galloped around the house in my bare feet, on a broom that I pretended was Chocolate. Her voice was quiet and calm, but I could see the dismay in her eyes as she took in the clutter of our living room. She ordered me upstairs to get dressed and sent Daniel outside to fetch coal for the fire.

By the time I came back down the steep narrow staircase, flames were roaring up the chimney and my mom was settled in front of their cozy glow with a mug of tea. I smiled gratefully at Mrs. Brown when she handed me a piece of thickly buttered toast with strawberry jam. As I nibbled it contentedly, she and Daniel unpacked the box of goodies they had brought us.

Sparkling tinsel, gaudy baubles, a present for me that Mrs. Brown said she had collected for my mom and a beautiful Christmas cake with an angel on it, just like the one she was trying to get her to place on the tree.

“Come on, Mary,” she pleaded with her lovely voice.

I felt angry when my mom just sat with that vacant look in her eyes, staring into the fire, so I set down my plate and ran across to shake her arm. “Put it on,” I yelled. It mattered so much to me that my mom join in our excitement.

But Mrs. Brown took a gentle hold of my shoulders and pulled me toward her. “It’s all right, Lucy,” she said quietly. “The doctor told us that your mother would need to rest, and Daniel and I are here to keep an eye on you both, so just leave her be and she’ll come around…you’ll see.”

I relaxed against the warmth of her pale blue woolen sweater, clinging to the comfort she offered and smiling contentedly, knowing I was safe within her violet scent. It made me feel good inside to know that I was safe.

“I’ll keep an eye on her, as well, shall I?” I offered gravely.

She nodded in agreement. “Good idea, for she’ll be well again in no time if we both watch out for her.”

I believed then that Mrs. Brown’s magic was working already, for my mom slipped into one of her more lucid periods. Sometimes they only lasted minutes before she drifted back into her cloudy-eyed apathy, but this time her lucidity went on and on and she gazed at Mrs. Brown with real emotion in her gray eyes.

“Edna,” my mother suddenly said. “Whatever am I going to do?”

I hadn’t known that Mrs. Brown was named Edna until that moment. Mr. Brown called her Mother, Daniel called her Mom, and I just called her Mrs. Brown, so hearing her first name made me stand and gawk for a moment, until Daniel grabbed my arm.

“Can we go outside for a bit?” he asked. Mrs. Brown smiled and made a shooing motion.

“Make sure you put your coats on and don’t go out of the garden,” she yelled after us as we raced into the tiny kitchen to get our boots.

We built a den in the shed that day, Daniel and I. He said it was our headquarters and we had to sit at the pretend table and make our plans, but we couldn’t think what to plan. Then he had one of his good ideas.

He screwed up his face, just as he always did when he was thinking, and ran his fingers through his tufty blond hair, which I liked so much.

“We’ll plan a trip,” he said. “A trip to the…to the circus. I’ll be a lion tamer and you can—”

“I’ll ride the horses,” I cut in, excitement buzzing through me.

Daniel was always contriving crazy things to do. We spent hours making plans that amounted to nothing, but we both understood that it was just a matter of time. One day, once we were grown up, we would fulfill all our dreams.

When we went back into the cozy warmth of the house, the living room seemed taken up by the tree. The gaudy baubles sparkled in the light from the fire, and its golden glow turned the silver tinsel to flickering orange. The bowl on our small scratched coffee table was filled with fruit and two brightly colored presents now lay beneath the canopy of green branches. One had no name on it, and Mrs. Brown said that she had bought it for me to give to my mom, so I filled in the card she handed me, meticulously writing my name in big letters and putting lots of kisses at the bottom, before arranging it carefully underneath the tree, next to the one from my mom to me. In that moment my world seemed complete and I turned to look at Mrs. Brown with tears of happiness in my eyes.

“It really is Christmas, isn’t it!” I exclaimed.

She laughed. “It certainly is,” she agreed. “And we’ll expect you and your mother for lunch tomorrow at twelve-thirty prompt.”

“At Homewood?” I cried, clapping my chubby hands.

“At Homewood,” she said. “Now, come on, Daniel. There are all the chores waiting for us at home.”

I stood in the front door and watched Mrs. Brown and Daniel drive away in their blue car. I watched until the car disappeared around a corner in the lane, and when I went back inside, hugging my warm glow of happiness, I realized that my mom’s lucid period had slipped again. She was sitting very quietly in her chair, just staring, I didn’t mind, though, because tomorrow we were going to have Christmas lunch at Homewood Farm.

It was after dark when a knock sounded on the door. My mom had fallen asleep in her chair, the fire had died to a red glow in the grate and I was curled up on the floor in front of it, dreaming about tomorrow and imagining Father Christmas hurtling through the sky in his sleigh. The knock made me jump, and for just a moment I thought that he was here already, before I had even gone to bed, so I ran and hid behind my mom’s chair. When the knock sounded again, more urgently, I shook her shoulder hard, calling her name. To my relief, she opened her eyes, but she stared at me vacantly, holding her hand against her forehead as if she had a headache. The knocking came yet again, and she pushed me toward the door.

“Go and see who it is, Lucy,” she groaned.

I was terrified in case it was Father Christmas and he wouldn’t leave me any presents because I was still awake, but the knocking was so loud that in the end I wriggled at the bolt until it slid back and the door burst open.

The man on the step was thinner than I recalled. His cheekbones seemed to push against his skin and his dark hair curled down over his collar, but there was no mistaking those twinkling blue eyes.

“Hello, princess,” he cried with a flourish. “I thought I’d find you here when I saw Mrs. Brown leave. Now, give your dad a kiss, since he’s come home for Christmas.”

I gawked at him for a moment, caught between fear and joy, and then I remembered his horse.

“Have you brought the horse?” I asked him.

He stepped inside and leaned down to look into my eyes.

“Now, what horse would that be?” he inquired in a serious voice.

“The one that all your money went on,” I replied, clenching my hands to help contain my excitement.

For a moment he eyed me curiously. His forehead puckered into lines and his eyes narrowed as he tapped his chin with one long forefinger. Then suddenly he raised his hands in the air and let out a great guffaw.

“I’m afraid that particular horse galloped off a long time ago, princess,” he told me. “And it wasn’t to the winning post.”

I felt tears well in my eyes, and my bottom lip started to tremble. I was so sure that one day my dad would bring the horse home, and now I would never be able to show it to Daniel. It wasn’t fair—

“Who is it?”

My mother’s voice floated through from the living room, thin and reedy as it always was nowadays. My dad took hold of my hand and led me through the door with determined strides.

“Hello, Mary,” he said. “Your old man’s here to see you on Christmas Eve.”

My mom lifted herself slowly from her chair. She was trembling all over, and there was more emotion on her face than I had seen her show since before she went away, as if she had all of a sudden managed to shed her protective coat of apathy.

“Get out!” she yelled. “Get out of my house.”

My dad just grinned, unconcerned by her ferocity, and turned to me.

“Not wearing your red shoes, princess?” he asked. I gazed up at him, confusion flooding my brain.

“They don’t fit,” I mumbled.

He grabbed me beneath the armpits and swung me around and around, so that the blood rushed to my head. When he put me down, I felt sick and faint.

“Well, in that case we’ll have to buy you others, won’t we,” he exclaimed.

He was like that, my dad. First he made you sad and then he made you smile. But my mom wasn’t smiling. Her face was all white and her eyes were open very wide.

“Get out!” she yelled again.

My dad looked at her for a minute, then he turned to me.

“Lucy,” he said, pointing to the door. “Time for bed.”

I stood my ground, setting my legs ready for a fight.

“I’m hungry,” I cried, clutching my stomach.

A dark shadow passed across his handsome features and he glanced around the room. Then his eyes brightened and he reached across to where a mound of multicolored fruits spilled from the bowl that Mrs. Brown had put together for us. His fingers paused above a yellow banana, plucked a purple grape and popped it into his mouth, then settled over a large red apple.

“Here,” he said, handing the apple to me. “This’ll fill you up. Now, go to your bed.”

I made a parting shot, anything that would keep me there for just a bit longer.

“We’re going to Homewood Farm for Christmas lunch tomorrow,” I announced, and when he scowled and turned back toward my mother, unimpressed by the information, I scuttled up the stairs, clutching my apple.

I had been waiting forever for my dad to come home, but now that he was here, it didn’t feel right. I lay in my bed, trying to keep warm, nibbling on the apple and listening to the voices downstairs. At first I heard my mom shouting again, but then she went quiet and I thought I heard her cry. Then there was silence, and the next thing I knew it was pitch-dark. I sat up, fear coursing through me as a shadow rippled across the ceiling. When I remembered my dad had returned, I lay back down again, listening to the silence and wondering if I dared to go and find my mom.

A clock ticked in the hallway, and I blinked in time with the sound until I heard an owl hooting in the darkness. Too wit, too woo, too wit, too woo, too wit, too woo, it called. I mouthed its cries, curious what it would be like to be an owl. When it fell silent, I became aware of another sound. It came from my mom’s room next door, and it was a kind of thumping, an urgent rhythmic banging, followed by a moaning gasping cry. So I pulled the covers over my head, and when I woke up again, daylight was streaming though my window and hunger pains were clawing at my stomach.

My mom, who had only been home for a short time, rarely got up until midday. It didn’t matter to me, though, as I had become used to fending for myself. Usually I would go and find some cereal or bread to eat and then play in the cold living room until she came downstairs, but this morning was different. This morning was Christmas Day.

In my eagerness to get downstairs, I fell from my bed onto the brightly colored mat that covered the floorboards, scuffing my elbow and hurting my head, but I didn’t care. I scrambled down the steep narrow stairs and burst through the living-room door. The Christmas tree was still there in all its gaudy finery, the presents bought by Mrs. Brown lying beneath it. With a flicker of disappointment, I saw that Santa hadn’t eaten the mince pie I’d left him, nor had his reindeer even nibbled on the carrot, so I ate the pie myself and wondered why he had forgotten to call at my house.

My present was wrapped in bright shiny red paper covered in tiny Christmas trees. It looked so good that I hardly dared to tear the paper. I unwrapped it carefully, wanting the anticipation to last as long as possible.

“Love from Mom,” said the label. When I saw what was inside the parcel, I began tearing at the rest of the paper with eager hands. Jodhpurs! She had bought me jodhpurs to wear when I rode Chocolate.

Dragging them on, I stumbled up the stairs and burst into my mom’s bedroom, eager to share my excitement. I froze in the doorway, though, when I remembered that my dad was home.

He was sitting on the side of the bed in his boxer shorts, his long dark curly hair all tousled and his eyes bleary with sleep, or the lack of it. His swarthy skin seemed even darker with the stubble of a beard. I hopped uncomfortably from foot to foot for a moment, then he held out his hand and I saw the twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

“Happy Christmas, princess,” he said.

My mom was lying very still with her back to me, a long shape beneath the blue-and-white bedspread. When I tried to go and look at her, my dad laughed and grabbed my arm.

“Now, what is this you’re wearing?” he asked, peering at my new blue jodhpurs.

I squirmed with delight, twirling to show them off with such pride that I thought I might explode.

“Your precious Mrs. Brown, I suppose,” he remarked.

I stopped and stared at him. “My mom got them for me,” I told him.

He laughed. “Your mom couldn’t even go and buy a loaf of bread.”

“Mrs. Brown says she just needs to rest.”

I felt troubled by the expression on his handsome face. The dad I remembered was my hero; he made me laugh and bought me presents. When he was there, murmured an inner voice, and a distant memory of him shouting at my mom leaped, unwanted, into my mind.

“Well, we won’t need to bother the wonderful Browns again, will we?” he said. “Now that your dad is home.”

All those weeks I had longed for him to return. All those times I had blamed my poor mom for chasing him away. And now he was here and he wasn’t what I remembered. The world closed in around me and I saw Homewood Farm slipping away.

“Will you come for Christmas lunch with us?” I asked in a wobbly voice, guessing at his answer. He grinned again and held out his arms.

“I think we’ll all just stay here,” he announced. “I’m sure your mom will be able to find something nice for us to eat.”

“My mom’s not very well,” I told him. He turned to eye the motionless form beneath the bedspread.

“Oh, I think she’ll pull herself together now that I’m here.”

For the first time in my life I withdrew from my father’s embrace and walked slowly back down the stairs thinking of the big warm living room at Homewood Farm and the huge turkey I had seen Mrs. Brown preparing the other day. But it would be all right when she found out, I decided. Mr. Brown would be sure to come and get us. Except, I didn’t have any presents for Mr. and Mrs. Brown. I raced into the living room to retrieve the shiny red paper with the Christmas trees from where it lay crumpled in the hearth…but what to give them?

My eyes flicked desperately around the room, before finally alighting on the bowl of fruit. With great deliberation I chose the brightest orange and the most perfect apple to wrap up in the Christmas-tree paper and place beneath the tree. For Daniel I would draw a picture of Chocolate. With a new flood of happiness, I went off to get my pencils.

The knock on the door sounded at a quarter to one. I knew that was the time because I had asked my dad on a dozen occasions when half past twelve was—aware that when we didn’t turn up at Homewood, someone would look for us. The someone was Daniel. When I opened the door, he grinned and stepped straight inside.

“My mom says you’re late,” he told me in a breathless voice. “We’ve got presents for you and I got a bike from Santa. Come see. It’s just outside.”

I followed him out into the crisp air, feeling glad about the presents I had so carefully wrapped that morning and recalling the picture of Chocolate with pride.

“Isn’t it ace?” he cried.

I nodded, gazing appreciatively at the shiny red bicycle.

“So are you ready?” he asked eagerly.

I stared at the ground.

“Tell your mother that Mick McTavish says thank you very much for looking after his family and finding them somewhere to live, but we won’t be needing your help anymore now that he is home.”

My dad was standing behind us in the open doorway, his arms folded across his chest and a satisfied smile on his face. When Daniel gaped at him, he laughed.

“Don’t worry, lad. I’m not going to bite you,” he said. “Now, run off home and deliver my message.”

Daniel gazed at me and I could see my own disappointment mirrored in his deep brown eyes.

“But what about the presents?” he whispered for my ears only.

“Can’t I just go for a little while,” I begged my dad. His face clamped up.

“Not today, Lucy,” he told me.

I wanted to scream at him, but all I did was watch the big fat tears dripping onto my shoes as Daniel rode off down the lane, back toward Homewood Farm and presents and Christmas lunch.