Holding On (26 page)

The woman selling pots of hyacinths smiled as Susanna approached and immediately bent to forage amongst her selection, holding up a green bowl with three sturdy plants not yet in flower.

‘Blue,' she said triumphantly. ‘That's what you wanted, wasn't it, my lover?'

Susanna beamed back at her. ‘Blue,' she agreed. ‘My grandmother's favourite colour.'

‘Keep 'em in the warm for a week and they'll just about be blooming on Christmas Day.' The woman watched, blowing on her cold mittened fingers as Susanna flung back the alpaca poncho to rummage in the purse she wore on a leather thong round her neck.

‘My favourite colour's pink,' Susanna told her as she passed over a five-pound note. ‘If I've got any money left over I might buy some for myself. The scent is so heavenly. You'll be here next Friday?'

‘Christmas Eve.' The woman nodded vigorously as she sorted out her change. ‘Us'll be here. Do a good trade on Christmas Eve.'

‘I'll keep my fingers crossed that you have some left.'

The woman watched her, carefully carrying her parcels across the High Street, and smiled to herself. Her young man had already been over much earlier and paid for a bowl of pink hyacinths to be brought to the market on Christmas Eve.

‘There's simply no place to hide them in our little flat,' he'd said. ‘You won't forget, will you?'

She knew him by sight, a nice young man, she'd decided; not handsome or dashing, just nice, anxious that his pretty wife should have her Christmas hyacinths. ‘The dear of 'im,' she murmured, and turned to serve another customer as Susanna passed out of sight.

‘Goodies!' she announced triumphantly as she came into the studio. ‘Grandmother's hyacinths. They've got to be kept in the warm for this next week so that they'll just be flowering for Christmas Day.'

‘Airing cupboard,' said Gus promptly, removing his reading spectacles so as to see the bowl of bulbs more clearly. ‘It's the warmest place in the whole house.'

‘True.' Susanna paused for a quick kiss as she passed through to the tiny kitchen. ‘I'll take it all up in a minute. Coffee?'

‘You say the nicest things,' murmured Gus. ‘Did you remember the Letraset?'

‘I did.' He heard the rush of water, the click of the switch and she was back in the doorway, struggling out of her poncho. ‘I shall have to pack the presents this weekend. Fliss is coming down with the twinnies on Monday and she's bound to be over. Those twinnies will be into everything. I've bought some smashing paper this morning, really cheap.'

‘Isn't Miles coming down?' Gus left his paste-ups and began to search through the contents of the basket for the Letraset. ‘Surely Fliss isn't leaving him on his own for Christmas?'

‘Course not,' said Susanna scornfully. ‘He's coming down by train on Christmas Eve. He can't get away until then and he thinks it best for them to come on ahead when the roads are a bit emptier. They're stopping off in Bristol to pick up Aunt Prue.'

‘Are you absolutely certain you don't want to stay at The Keep?' Gus had found the Harberton Art Workshop bag containing the Letraset. ‘I know we're going for Christmas Day but won't you miss all the fun of Christmas Eve and all the traditional things? I'm quite happy to go, you know.'

‘I know you are.' Susanna sat down in the big Windsor chair that was kept for clients and visitors. She pushed her dark hair behind her ears and drew her feet up onto the chair seat, hugging her knees with arms. ‘It's just that I think it's important that we do our own things, too. People talk about traditions but they all have to start somewhere, don't they? You can't hang on to other people's for ever. The Keep has its own traditions now, but if Grandmother had kept going back to her parents then it wouldn't have them, would it? She made her own for her own family and then we came and added to them. I know we haven't got children yet but we've got to make a start somewhere, haven't we?'

He smiled a little at her earnestness as he put the Letraset in its drawer. ‘I see exactly what you mean. I suppose I'm just a shade nervous at measuring up to the great Chadwick traditions.'

‘It'll be easy.' She grinned at him. ‘It'll change a bit when the babies come, of course, but I've been thinking about it and I've got it all planned. We shall go to the market on Christmas Eve morning and listen to the carols and do last-minute shopping. Lunch, then tidy up in here and do all the fiddly little jobs. Have supper at The Kingsbridge Inn and go to the midnight service at St Mary's. Walk home, have hot coffee and mince pies and go to bed in our nice big saggy bed together. When we wake up we'll open our own presents and then we'll go over to The Keep for lunch and the great present-opening tree ceremony at teatime. Back home for a bite of supper. What do you say?'

‘It sounds great so far.' Gus couldn't think why he felt strangely weepy. Susanna often had this effect upon him although she was actually a most prosaic person. ‘I specially like the bit about our nice big saggy bed.'

‘Thought you would.' She beamed happily. ‘I like that bit, too. That's settled then. Now, I'll make the coffee and then I'll show you what I've bought.'

 

‘So you have a Christmas tree,' said Kit, taking off her sheepskin coat and picking up Bess to give her a hug. ‘I wondered if you would, since you're off to The Keep on Monday. Isn't it pretty? Hello, gorgeous one. Hello, Jamie. Gosh, you've grown.'

She hoisted him into her other arm and they laughed at their mother as they clasped an arm each about Kit's neck.

‘You're both much too heavy,' Fliss told them. ‘Poor Kit. You'll break her.'

Kit let them slide down and collapsed on to the sofa so that they could scramble up beside her instead.

‘What a lot of presents,' she said, eyeing the pile beneath the green, tinsel-laden branches. ‘I can see that you won't need mine.'

‘These are for the children on the married patch,' Fliss told her. ‘We're having our own Christmas here before we go to Devon. Bess and Jamie have lots of friends and they're all coming to a party tomorrow afternoon. It's going to be great fun.'

Kit looked at the twinnies. Bess wore scarlet woollen tights and a jersey under her navy cord pinafore; Jamie was dressed in dungarees. Their faces were bright with the pleasure of seeing her. Jamie shouldered in under her arm, thumb in mouth; Bess kneeled beside her, leaning against her. How lucky Fliss was to have these two moppets to hug and cherish. She swallowed back the tears which had hovered near the surface ever since she'd said a final goodbye to Jake the week before.

He'd looked so drawn and grim she'd hardly recognised him. Even now she could hardly believe that she'd thrown away so much. How could she possibly have had him so close for so long and then lost him? She had been too complacent; so convinced that he would always be there, taking him utterly for granted. She'd hurt him badly with the way she'd behaved with Mark, she knew that now, neglecting Jake for this newer fancy, wondering if he were to be the great love she'd always believed would come along. It was just like those awful fairy stories in which the prince went out searching for his heart's desire which was always back at home . . .

‘Would you like your present now?' asked Fliss, hating to see the bleakness in Kit's eyes. ‘I was wondering earlier why we shouldn't have our own private Christmas. Just the four of us. There will be so many other presents to open on Christmas Day. Why shouldn't we open just one or two now?'

The twinnies were gazing at her, eyes wide with amazement. They'd been told – on the pain of Father Christmas leaving them off his calling list – that none of the family presents must be touched before Christmas Day, and they were shocked by this subversive suggestion. Jamie took his thumb out of his mouth and they both stared up hopefully at Kit, holding their respective breaths, waiting for her reaction, fearing that she too might be horrified at such heresy.

‘It's a great idea.' Kit smiled at Fliss, whilst the twinnies heaved huge sighs of relief. They bounced with excitement, squeaking with glee.

‘Hang on,' said Fliss, as they tumbled off the sofa and began to crawl about under the tree. ‘Not those presents. We shall only open ours from Kit and she will open hers from us. That's fair, isn't it?'

‘Yours are still out in Eppyjay,' said Kit. ‘I was going to smuggle them in later so that these two young thugs didn't get their mitts on them.'

‘Bring them in while we fetch yours from upstairs. They're on my bed all ready and waiting.' In the hall Fliss took Kit's arm, holding her back whilst the twinnies raced ahead up the stairs. ‘Are you OK? Silly question. Of course you aren't. Oh, Kit.'

Kit shook her head. Her heart felt so heavy that she was obliged to let out huge sighs from time to time, otherwise she felt it might simply break from its sheer weighty burden of misery. She bit her lip and Fliss put her arms about her and hugged her tightly.

‘I miss him so,' she mumbled into Fliss's shoulder. ‘He's always been there. He was a part of me. I feel maimed, wounded. Oh God . . .'

‘He was like the dog basket, wasn't he?' murmured Fliss. ‘Somewhere to go when you were lonely and frightened and feeling very small.'

She felt the hot tears soaking into her shoulder and prayed that the twinnies wouldn't come back, wondering how she could comfort Kit, knowing that she couldn't.

‘Sorry.' Kit raised her head, trying to smile. ‘Remember that Christmas when I thought I was pregnant and my period started on Christmas Eve? I cried and cried for joy. Why do I have to be such a fool?'

‘You're not a fool,' Fliss said gently. ‘You weren't sure, that's all. It's so easy to make a mistake. It was a pity that you met him when you were just starting out and there was so much happening. He became part of the scenery before you were old enough to make a proper judgement.'

Kit blotted at her eyes, blew her nose and turned away as the twinnies appeared at the top of the stairs clutching various brightly coloured packages, chattering excitedly.

‘Just a sec,' said Fliss, releasing Kit and running up the stairs. ‘Let me see what you've got there . . .'

Kit escaped out into the cold air of Capella Road and unlocked Eppyjay.

‘Shall we stay in touch?' she'd asked Jake tremblingly. ‘Just . . . just letters now and then?'

He'd held her hands tightly, reaching across the little table in the coffee bar where they'd arranged to meet. She'd been unaware of her surroundings, unable to take in the terrible truth that she might never see him again. The door swung open from the kitchen and the music from the radio became clearer. Roberta Flack was singing ‘Killing me Softly with his Song'. At the sound of it scalding tears had slipped from her eyes and he'd lifted her hands, holding them against his mouth.

‘Oh, Kit,' he'd said sadly. ‘How can we? You know how dangerous it would be.'

‘I can't bear it,' she'd gasped. ‘I'd no idea how much I needed you, Jake. How can you leave me now?'

‘
Please
,' he'd whispered fiercely. ‘For God's sake, Kit.'

The waitress had dumped the coffee down, forcing them to draw apart, and Kit had stared round her in the gloom, wiping her eyes.

‘Why did we have to meet here?' she'd asked, trying to sound normal. ‘It's a dump. I could have come to your flat.'

‘Coming to my flat doesn't work any more,' he'd answered grimly. ‘We always end up in the same place and it leads on to one more meeting. I'm flying over to Paris tomorrow, Kit.'

She'd stared at him, watching his long-fingered hand holding the spoon, stirring the black liquid round and round and round.

She'd thought: I know now why people talk of dying of a broken heart. Mine is so heavy it could easily break. If only it would. Whatever is the point of life without him?

‘I've got to try,' he'd said. ‘You must see that. I made this muddle. It's not Madeleine's fault. She's the victim of our muddle. I owe it to her to give it everything I've got. It would be wrong to try to hold on to you, too. We had our chance and we blew it.'

She'd shut her eyes. It was as though he had struck her, brutally emphasising all that she'd had within her grasp – and lost. She'd picked up her cup and gulped at the hot bitter coffee, burning her mouth.

He'd watched her, seeing her anguish, making up his mind. ‘I have something for you,' he said at last, reaching into his jacket.

‘You said “no presents”.' Her mind had been already leaping to and fro, trying to think what she might give him, wishing she'd brought him some keepsake.

‘I can't take anything from you now,' he'd said. ‘I want nothing I might have to hide or explain away. Women can be very astute about noticing such things.'

‘But you have a whole past behind you.' She'd been unable to hide her pain. ‘Are you going to throw away all the presents you've ever had?'

‘No,' he'd said impatiently. ‘Naturally not. But I have no guilt about anything in my past. It is only from now forwards things must change. Anything you gave me now would be charged with emotion and memories. I couldn't bear it. I know I'm cheating with this but you're not going to be married. Not yet anyway, and then this will belong to your past. It belonged to my mother. She gave it to me on my twenty-first birthday and told me that I should give it to the woman to whom I gave my heart. I remember that she said that this might not be the woman I married and I thought that it was quite a sophisticated viewpoint – for an old-fashioned Englishwoman.' He smiled bleakly. ‘I always hoped that it would be my morning gift to you but now I see that she was right . . .'