This is the first in a series of one-shots about the Crawley family and their many ups and downs. Enjoy!
IT'S SNOWING
-K-
3rd January, 1926.
"Pull!"
"Oh, Papa, is this really necessary?"
"Mary, don't be such a grouch. It's meant to be fun!" Cora's face is bright and she looks like a teenager again. Mary on the other hand has a face like a wet weekend, and watches unimpressed as her father attempts to pull a sledge out of the back shed. He is wearing a long brown trench coat and a cap, and his cheeks are pink. Snow falls softly around their ears, and the children dance around, catching snowflakes. The sky is like a colour palette – aquamarine, vermillion, mauve, violet and magenta. Robert gives a last tug and it comes shooting out, startling the three women around him. Violet chuckles and a twinkle emerges in her eye. As she watches her great-grandchildren play in the snow she thinks of when she was a little girl, throwing leaves into the air in October, skipping through the snow drifts in January, lying in the daisies in April and basking in the ocean in July. A certain sadness washes over her as her stick trembles slightly under her firm grasp, reminding her of time catching up with her. She no longer fears death – she knows she will greet it gladly and resignedly when it comes – like an old friend.
"Come on, great-grandmama! Come and play!" Marigold is tugging at her sleeve, and she gives in to her undisguised amusement and runs after the two little girls who shriek with delight.
"This was a good idea of yours."
Robert glances over at his wife. Her eyes are very blue today and she is grinning ear to ear. Leaning across he kisses her softly on the cheek, sending a million fireworks through her brain, and shivers down her spine. "Well, why not, if it cheers up our grandchildren?"
Cora's smile almost spreads across her whole face now, and she places her head on his shoulder, a comforting and warm place. "It certainly does."
"Where's Edith? Winter is her favourite time of the year."
"Edith is sad. Edith is down there," pipes up George, pointing down the lawn. The two follow their grandson's finger and spot a figure sitting on a bench a considerable way down the hill.
"I'll go," Robert says, passing the snow shovel to Cora. Affronted, she shoves it back at him, making him stumble and fall into the snow, dropping it in the process. She laughs at the sight of her husband with next to no dignity, and she starts to walk down the hill. But Cora does not get very far, due to a certain obstruction in her path.
"Robert...please can you move your head."
"No." He looks up at her, grinning cheekily. "I'm staying put."
"Oh..." She sighs despairingly and tries to walk around him, but he can read her like a book, and before long they are lying side by side in the snow, giggling like school children.
"Are you making love?"
They startle at their grandson's use of the word and Robert struggles to not burst out laughing.
"Where on earth did you hear that from?" Cora's voice is mystified.
"There were noises coming from your bedroom two days ago. I asked mama and she said 'They're probably making love again, like they do every day.' Are you making love, then?"
Cora and Robert exchange an amused glance and face George, who stands behind their heads, so he is very much upside down to them. "No, we are not making love, George. After all, you tend to need a bed to do so."
"Mama says you two do it on the chair. That doesn't make sense. She also says you do it in the library, and sometimes the dining room when you have the chance. I don't understand."
This is too much for Robert who starts to laugh and then cannot stop, clutching his stomach and rolling in the snow.
"If you're making a snow angel, grandpapa, you're doing it wrong. You're meant to lie on your back and move your arms and legs up and down. That's how you make a snow angel. I'm going to join Marigold and Sybbie. You two can make love now."
Both of them are laughing by the time Master George has gone, gasping for breath and grabbing each other in mirth.
"Oh..." Cora pulls herself into a sitting position, Robert closely following her. Both of them are soaked to the skin on the back of their bodies, but they couldn't care less. Taking advantage of the disappearance of their grandson, they pull each other into a passionate embrace.
"Are you making love now, grandmama?"
They pull apart, smiling, to see George standing by Marigold and Sybbie, who are pelting Violet with snowballs.
"No! We are not! Go and play with your sisters!"
He grins in reply and runs after Violet, who is hot pursuit of the two girls, holding onto her hat and whooping with laughter. This makes them smile again.
"What was I doing before I was so enjoyably interrupted? Oh yes," Cora says, pulling herself to her feet. "Going to see Edith."
"I think someone might have beaten you to it." Robert indicates the small figure of their grandson sitting next to their daughter, and a knowing look comes into her eye.
"There's nothing so curing as love."
Meanwhile, Edith is not as full of merriment as her daughter, nephew, niece, mother, father, grandmother, and even her sister, who has joined in the snowball fight and is currently surrendering to Marigold's onslaught of the sludgy cold miracle. Huddling on the bench, she tries to keep warm but fails. A tear runs down her cheek. All of a sudden, she is aware of another presence, albeit a small one. She glances round to see George sitting calmly beside her, regarding her patiently.
"What's wrong Auntie Edith? Don't you want to come and play?"
"Oh...no thank you, George, that's very kind of you, but why don't you go and play? Go on." She turns away, trying to wipe away her tears discreetly.
"Mama has done it enough for me to know that you are crying right now and you don't want me to see. I'm not afraid of tears. Why are you sad?"
She turns back to her nephew whose face is innocent and curious.
"I was thinking of your uncle."
"Tom?"
This is hard for her. "Y-yes."
"Why?"
"It's difficult to explain, Master George."
"Well, try. I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you are worried about."
She looks at her nephew. He is only four, she thinks, but then it occurs to her that he will have to know about these things one day.
"I loved him."
His little eyes widen. "But I thought Sybbie's mama loved Tom?"
"She did, very much, and he loved her with a passion. But I have always loved Tom, and always will."
His little face crumples into confusion. "What does passion mean?"
"Passion means...well, it is a very strong emotion. It is uncontrollable and it is usually felt between lovers."
"Lovers?"
"People who have a..." She hesitates, and then says it. "Sexual relationship."
Of course, she knows what is coming. "What's a sexual relationship?"
"Has Mary told you about grandmama and grandpapa?"
"Yes," he says, very confused.
"That's what they're up to when they 'make love'."
"Ohhh!" He smiles and reaching across takes her hand. "Don't worry. You and Tom will make love one day."
She laughs at this, and strokes his cheek with a gloved hand. "I'm afraid it doesn't really work that way, Master George."
"Why not?"
She is about to say "Because he still loves Sybil", but then she wonders – why not?
"That is for me to know and you to find out, little sir."
He seems pleased with this, and bounces off the bench.
"I promise not to tell anyone. From the bottom of my heart."
"Thank you, George."
"Will you come and play now? You're not sad anymore."
To her amusement and amazement, she realises that infact she is not, that talking to George has helped.
"Of course! You'd better start running!"
George laughs and runs away, but Edith is fast and soon catches up with him, scooping him up and tickling him. He screams with laughter and it is as if a floodgate has opened, for she is filled with a deep happiness. Whooping with joy, she throws him into the air and he lands in a deep snowdrift. Seconds later he emerges, laughing and shaking snowflakes out of his lashes. "Come on, Auntie Edith! You can't catch me!"
"Oh yes I can!"
Up on the hill, still holding hands, Cora and Robert look at each other; smiling, happy knowing their daughter can be cured with love – even if it's not the kind she wishes for.
