The Quality Street Girls, page 30
‘We can’t get her doing bar work; she’s not old enough.’
‘Hear me out,’ Reenie was enjoying this, it was like the big reveal of a conjurer producing a rabbit from a hat. ‘She wouldn’t be doing bar work, she’d be waiting on the old Oak Room upstairs where all the private parties are. Donna would keep an eye on her, and the private parties are all old married fellas, like the Rotarians and the Worshipful Ale Tasters so they’d all keep an eye on her too. It’s alright money, and Donna says she can hang on until April, and if Bess is better, she can start then. What do you think?’
Mary didn’t answer, she just hugged her friend and choked back a sob. She didn’t feel like she deserved such a good Christmas, but she felt Reenie did.
A familiar neigh caught their attention; Peter was returning with Ruffian in tow, although Ruffian didn’t appear to like being led by someone who wasn’t Reenie and would stop still every so often in a protest.
‘I should go and help him,’ Reenie said, ‘He knows a lot of things, but he’s daft with horses.’
‘Thank you, Reenie.’ Mary dabbed at her eyes with her scrunched-up handkerchief and sniffed.
‘Don’t you worry, love. I promise you everything will work out fine. Have a happy Christmas, and don’t forget to enjoy yourself.’
Peter and Reenie bade their farewells to Mary who plodded up the hill in the direction of her mother’s little one-up-one-down which would feel empty this year without Bess.
‘Are you staying in Halifax?’ Peter asked her.
‘Eck as like. I’m away home.’ Reenie gave Ruffian a rub on his nose out of habit.
‘But the snow.’ Peter was frowning at the dark clouds that were gathering overhead.
‘I wouldn’t worry, I’m headed out east, and those will blow over west. I don’t want to stay in Halifax on Christmas Eve, I’m going back to the farm. Ruffian’ll see me right.’
Peter took a deep breath and lowered his voice before saying clearly and calmly. ‘Can I walk you home?’
Reenie was speechless for a moment. ‘But won’t you miss the last train to Norwich? Don’t you need to get home to your family for Christmas?’
‘No trains. The snow.’ Peter shrugged it off as though he didn’t mind missing Christmas with the McKenzie clan.
‘Alright then. If you’re sure you don’t mind. I mean, it’s a fair few miles.’
‘Finally!’
Reenie laughed at Peter’s unexpected vehemence. ‘What do you mean ‘Finally’?’
‘I have been asking to walk you home for three months now!’
Reenie giggled because she couldn’t understand why her friend was so animated about it. ‘But I never needed you to walk me home.’
‘That,’ said Peter, with uncharacteristic emphasis, ‘is not why I have been asking.’
The truth dawned on Reenie, and her eyes brightened with surprise, and she grinned.
Chapter Thirty-One
‘What if she’s got lost and she needs our help?’ Reenie’s sister Kathleen was determined to believe that Reenie would still try to come home on Christmas Eve, despite the snow.
‘I’ve told you, she won’t have tried to come back at night in this weather, she’ll be hiding out at the The Old Cock and Oak with Ruffian until it’s light; there’s no use watching at that window, you won’t see her.’ Reenie’s mother was trying not to show the worry she too was feeling; if anyone was mule-fool enough to try and come out in knee-deep snow drifts, it was her Reenie. But she told herself that she had the horse with her, and if she had set off, he’d see her home safely, or dig his hooves in and make her turn around and go back to the pub.
Kathleen scowled at her mother and then went back to looking out through their faded crimson curtains at falling snowflakes so large they looked like goose feathers. It was dark, and the heavy, gentle snowfall made it darker, but they’d left a storm lantern alight over the porch, and by its glow, she watched with her heart in her mouth for her absent sister.
‘Maybe I should go out, love; just to check.’ Mr Calder hovered in the doorway, he knew his wife’s bravado, and he knew Reenie; he really should go out to be certain she wasn’t on the road and having trouble with the horse.
‘Don’t you dare! I’ve got enough to worry about without you playing silly buggers in the snow. She’s got the horse; what have you got? The last thing we need is you getting lost in a blizzard—’
‘It’s not a blizzard, woman, it’s fallin’ straight down, and there’s not a gust of wind.’
‘I don’t care if it’s falling upwards; you’re not going out in it without the ’orse, and that’s final. Reenie will be tucked up at the pub or bunkin’ in with one of the girls from work. She won’t have tried to get home in this weather. I’ll say this for my Reenie: she’s no fool.’
Mr Calder looked at his wife, and his look said, are we talking about the same Reenie?
‘If I’d known she wasn’t gonna bring us a tree in time for Christmas I’d have got one m’self.’ Young John was looking gloomily into the grate of the parlour range which glowed with wood that his older sister had scavenged from the stable yard of The Old Cock and Oak, and had held back from the scrap men.
Kathleen opened her mouth to argue. ‘How can you be so bloody selfish—’
‘Don’t start!’ Their mother quelled them with a look.
There was an uneasy silence in the cosy parlour. John looked longingly at the box of Christmas tree decorations that waited on the table for a tree to hang upon, while their marmalade cat tugged at a string of paper chains on the wall with a white paw. A pot of tea steamed on the sideboard where a tealight kept it warm and stewed the leaves until it was strong enough to stain a fence. Kathleen wriggled on the soft, tatty cushions of the battered window seat, and released a leg that had gone numb with pins and needles.
‘Come away from there; there’s no use watching you’ll only put us all on edge. Come and sit at the table, I’ve got a spot of tea for you. John, move those decorations now, you can put them up on a branch tomorrow when it’s light enough to go out and get one.’ Reenie’s mother sighed; both children were in a sulk, and she herself felt like crying and going to bed. ‘Kathleen? Did you hear me?’
‘I’m not movin’.’
‘If you leave those curtains open you’re just lettin’ more cold in. We’ll be nithered—’
‘She’s here!’ Kathleen leapt up from her place and ran to the door; the rest of her family froze in surprise. ‘She’s here!’ Kathleen flung the door open, heedless of the fat snowflakes falling on the stone-paved parlour floor. ‘Reenie! Reenie!’ she shouted into the night. ‘It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!’
‘I know!’ shouted back a heavily wrapped figure in tough boots that had been lashed to tennis rackets, leading a nearly toothless horse, and accompanied by a lad who carried a tree. ‘What d’you think I’m here for?’
‘Reenie Calder! What do you think you’re playing at coming out on a night like this!’ At the sight of her daughter the tears that Mrs Calder had been holding back all evening suddenly began to fall.
Reenie reached the front porch. ‘I do apologise. I’ll turn round and go back again, shall I? Peter, welcome to the Calder household. Mother, this is Peter MacKenzie; he’s been trying to walk me home safely every time he’s seen me for God-knows how long, and I decided tonight to let him because he hasn’t got anywhere to go for Christmas, do you mind if he stays?’
‘Well, I …’ Mrs Calder faltered as she worried about the quantity and quality of the hospitality they could offer a lad who clearly deserved the best. She was so grateful that he’d kept their daughter safe and brought her home to them on Christmas Eve in a blizzard.
‘If that tree’s for us Peter can have my bed!’ John piped up from behind them.
‘No one would want your bed, it’s sunk in the middle’ Kathleen was quick to remind her brother. ‘And he’ll not be sharing with Reenie and me.’ She turned and spoke confidingly to the young man who was lowering the tree. ‘Reenie kicks in her sleep.’
‘I’ll kick you in a minute if you keep telling all about me to our visitor.’ Reenie was fiddling with something on the horse’s back. ‘Give us a hand with this so we can get inside.’
Mr Calder stepped into action. ‘Why didn’t you put the tree on the ’orse?’
‘Because the ’orse is carrying the ’amper.’
‘What ’amper?’ Mrs Calder was trying to herd her family, the newcomer, and a tree into her parlour kitchen.
‘It’s a Christmas hamper, Mrs Calder.’ Peter kicked his boots, which were also lashed to tennis rackets, against the doorframe to shake off the snow before he crossed the threshold. ‘All the employees got one from Mackintosh’s; it’s a hamper of Christmas food to thank Reenie for all her work on the Quality Street line.’
‘Why have you got tennis rackets on your shoes?’ Young Kathleen was less interested in the food they’d brought with them than the strange footgear they were both wearing.
‘Because, nosy, it makes it easier to walk on snow. It was Peter’s idea; we picked them up from Sandow’s gymnasium on the way here. Peter is a member, so he’s allowed to take them.’
‘They’re very old.’ Peter seemed apologetic. ‘No one will miss them.’
‘Alright, that’s enough chat.’ Mrs Calder was wiping her eyes with her apron. ‘In you come, all of you. Reenie, what are you doing with that ’orse; is he coming in, or staying out?’
Mr Calder was feeling charitable to the old nag for bringing his daughter safely home. ‘Oh, let him in; it’s Christmas and he’s family too. He can lie by the fire like he did when he was a foal, the parlour’s big enough.’
‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, dad. Continence is no longer one of his virtues.’
Mr Calder looked as though he was mulling over potential solutions to that problem, but Reenie shook her head with a knowing look. ‘Alright,’ Mr Calder took the rope that served as Ruffian’s bridle, ‘You lot go in and get warm, I’ll settle the horse into the barn for the night. He’s earned his hot mash and his rub down.’
‘Don’t you go out like that, you’ll ruin those slippers, and you’ll catch your death of cold—’
Mr Calder nodded through his wife’s nagging. ‘Yes, dear. I’ll put my boots on, don’t you worry … yes, yes, and a coat and hat …’
While John and Kathleen wrestled the tree into the parlour, Reenie and Peter followed with the over-stuffed hamper which contained both Reenie’s and Peter’s Christmas gifts from the firm. Reenie plonked the hamper down on the kitchen table, sending the marmalade cat scarpering.
‘What’s in it?’ John’s eyes were bigger than his stomach at that moment, and he was eager to see everything that his sister had brought in.
‘Aren’t you going to say thank you to your sister for bringing you that Christmas tree all this way in the snow?’ Mrs Calder tutted at young John who apologised, and thanked both Reenie and Peter profusely. ‘Now then, Peter, can I get you a nice hot cup of tea?’
‘Yes, thank you, just a very weak one for me.’
Reenie smirked to herself, knowing that her mother’s tea would be strong enough to dissolve a teaspoon. ‘Mother, perhaps you’d like to brew some of this.’ She held up a package with elegant gold lettering and a satisfying crackle to the paper. ‘In our hampers, they gave us coffee.’
Mrs Calder cooed with delight. ‘Ooh, now aren’t we posh? Coffee! Well, I never. Let me smell it.’ Mrs Calder took the packet and took in a deep breath. ‘Oh now that’s wonderful, it really is. John, Kathleen, come here and smell this; this is what posh people’s houses smell of.’
‘And that’s not all,’ Reenie began producing one treasure after another with the flourish of a conjurer. ‘We have a whole cured ham—’
‘A whole ham?’ John was giddy with delight.
‘Yes, a whole ham. And …’ Reenie paused for effect. ‘Another whole cured ham!’
There was a ripple of applause and cheers from her younger siblings, and her father came back in to join them.
‘Dad, you’ll like this, we have a Dundee cake … and another Dundee cake.’
‘My goodness, and I thought Ruffian was lucky with his oats!’
‘That’s not all; we’ve got water biscuits, and ginger beer, and lime cordial, and two kinds of preserves, and stilton cheese, and drinking cocoa, and all kinds of things!’
‘What kinds of things?’ Young John asked earnestly. ‘I want to know all the things.’
‘There’s Caley’s Christmas crackers …’
‘Real Christmas crackers? The kind with hats and a bang?’
‘Yes, real Christmas crackers, with hats, and a bang. But best of all, better than two cured hams, two preserves; boxes of Christmas crackers, with hats and a bang, better than all of that, I have for you … wait for it,’ Reenie reached into the hamper and lifted out the prize tin ‘Mackintosh’s … celebrated … Quality Street!’ and she pulled off the lid with a flourish to reveal a sparkling jewel-chest of delights, all ringed round with paper bunting.
‘Oh, it’s Christmas, Reenie, it’s Christmas!’ her sister jumped up and down on the spot, unable to contain her glee.
‘It’s a fact I’m well aware of. Now, shall we get the tree up? I want to have a cup of coffee, get the tree up, and then go to sleep for three days.’ Reenie had hung up her coat and Peter’s and was now sitting on the floor pulling off her boots.
‘Mr MacKenzie?’ Reenie’s mother almost curtsied to the young visitor, but to Reenie’s relief, she appeared to stop herself just in time.
‘Please, call me Peter.’ Peter was warming himself by the parlour range until he was given permission to take off his boots in company.
‘Oh,’ Mrs Calder sounded both pleased and surprised ‘That’s very nice; Peter it is. Peter, you shall have our room and my husband, and I will spend the night down here in the armchairs—’
‘Oh no! No, I wouldn’t hear of it, I couldn’t possibly turn you both out of your bed. I’ll be quite happy down here in a chair, honestly.’
‘Wouldn’t he be warmer down here, though Mam?’ Young John cut through the niceties with bald pragmatism. ‘This here’s the only fire in the house.’
After some polite awkwardness, it was agreed that Peter, having travelled so far in the snow, would be better off in an armchair by the parlour fire to ward off pneumonia and other cold-related ailments. Reenie’s mother went off to find blankets and a spare pair of her husband’s pyjamas, privately wishing to herself he had some that were not frayed at the collar. Reenie drank and relished her hot cup of coffee while her siblings dressed the tree in Christmas decorations that were so old and wonderful they were practically family heirlooms. John showed off the holly decorations and paper chains that he had made to dress the room with – in the absence of the lately arrived tree, which was a sore point, and a joy to him, in equal measure. Kathleen asked if Peter was Reenie’s sweetheart, and at that moment her mother loudly decided that it was time to send everyone to bed because it was late, and Father Christmas wouldn’t bring them anything if they were awake when he arrived.
Reluctantly the whole family made their way up the wooden hill to bed, leaving only Reenie behind to finish her coffee by the fire.
‘There’s only two stockings on the mantle.’ Peter sat on the kitchen bench beside Reenie, steam rising from the wet clothes he was still wearing. He would change into Mr Calder’s kindly loaned pyjamas once Reenie had gone.
‘That’s a good point,’ Reenie started pulling one of her wet socks off, and then the other, before hanging them on the mantle with the help of a brass ornament. ‘I must put mine up if I want Santa to leave me an orange.’
Peter guffawed with laughter. ‘Do you not care who sees your feet?’
‘We’re not Victorians, Peter, I can’t go dying of pneumonia just to keep you from seeing my ankles. Is that why you’re still wearing your wet boots? Are you trying to be polite, or summat?’
‘Well your mother didn’t invite me to take them off, so I kept them on.’
‘Oh, give over. You’ll catch your death with wet feet. Pass one here.’ Reenie didn’t wait for Peter to move but leant across him and pulled at his laces while he tried to fight her off. He then pulled at the boot, which came away only with a tug of war by both of them. Once she’d got both boots she set them on the range top to dry out. ‘And peel your socks off and give them here.’
‘I can’t take my socks off as well; there’s a limit, you know.’
Reenie rolled her eyes. ‘Do you want Santa to leave you a satsuma and a drum? If you don’t leave him your socks, you won’t even get coal.’
Peter relented and handed over his snow-sodden socks to be hung over the mantle to dry.
‘Now, if we pull this bench right forward we can put our feet on the rail and get them really warm.’ Reenie shuffled their seat forward and then settled herself down to thaw out. They sat in companionable silence, watching the wood crackling in the grate, and admiring the light as it reflected off the baubles on the Christmas tree every time the cat moved beneath it. ‘Thank you for walking me home safely.’
‘Thank you for finally letting me.’
‘I’m sorry I got so angry about what you’d said at work. I just thought you were agreeing with Mrs Roth to let me get in trouble; I didn’t realise you were paying me a compliment.’
‘It wasn’t a compliment; it was just a statement of fact. You really do know all the lines, and I really will need you in Norwich. Besides, how could I betray you to Rabid Roth? You know I solemnly agreed that you were my statistical anomaly.’
Reenie burst out laughing. ‘Did you just call her Rabid Roth?’
‘Yes. That’s what everyone else calls her, isn’t it?’
‘Well it is, but it’s everyone except the managers! The managers don’t call her that; you’re a junior manager!’
‘I promise you; it’s what the managers call her as well.’
‘Do you honestly want me to come to Norwich with you?’
