I'd had a few requests to do an Easter Break Christmas piece but I didn't really want to revisit the characters just to do a run-of-the-mill festive story; I didn't want to revisit them if I didn't have anything new to say.
I hope you enjoy this, it was nice to be back in their world for a while x
The opening and closing quotes are from a song by Birdy called 'A Terrible Love'
"And I would follow you into the rabbit hole. I said I would but then I saw your shivered bones, they didn't want me to."
December 2018
The English winter of 1990-1991, focussing primarily on December through to February, is remembered for two things: snow and ice.
Gale force winds, blizzards, drifting snow – indeed the country's inhabitants were transported back to a Dickensian novel. Homes were left without water or electricity. Rail travel in the Midlands was cancelled and, with it being three weeks until Christmas, shops' takings were majorly down.
For Carson's Books it was no different. Charles found himself alone in his book store, Violet locked herself in the flat and produced countless dozen mince pies, most of which ended up frozen with Charles still defrosting a batch once a week right through til April.
It was during this time that he'd compiled one of his 'lists'; he was nothing if not resourceful. This particular list was 'Books I've Read' and it took him near enough thirteen days to compile. Needless to say that he had to organise the list by fine details; publication date, followed by surname, book title and, finally, publisher.
When January followed there was a respite of kinds and Charles and his mother reduced and promoted heavily to try and make up for December's losses.
However, February brought heavy snowfalls and freezing temperatures – in some places as much as -15 degrees centigrade – and with it business dropped again, which presented Charles with yet another task. That of categorising the books he'd read.
It occurred to him, during this mammoth task, just how much he'd learnt about relationships from books. In fact he would go as far as to say that all he knew about relationships came from books.
He understood about desire and temptation, about beauty and romance, how love can turn to hate, friendship can easily blossom to more. He knew of long marriages where one knew the other better than they knew themselves. Marriages that had soured but society dictated you stay together. Put upon wives. Put upon husbands. He'd read of instant passion and casual intimacies. Had turned the pages on the ease of male orgasm compared to the maze of female pleasure.
He took what he learnt and applied it to those he knew. Richard and Isobel were the archetypal couple that had met young, found love, married and raised children. Love for them was something tangible and whole that bloomed between them and grew and changed and never dulled. His mother was the shrew who hen-pecked her husband until he left and then she could blow her trumpet on all the harsh things she'd ever thought or said about him, for of course he'd proven them all to be true.
He knew he was the bachelor. Though he refused to see himself as Gordon from Keep the Aspidistra Flying – he may have been single and working in a book shop but the similarities with Orwell's character had to end there. Surely he wasn't so cut off from society.
Yes, books had taught him many things about relationships. About love. About human beings.
And then he'd met Elspeth Hughes and whatever he'd fooled himself he knew disappeared.
For he knew nothing of love until he met her. He knew nothing of marriage or building relationships or intimacy or patience or sex or bonds or friendship… until there'd been her.
And so, as she lay beside him now in their bed, on her side with her back to him and his hand on her hip and her bottom against his groin – he knew something was very wrong.
She'd been altogether grey of late. And for a woman who appeared to exude sunshine to him it was startlingly cold.
For several nights he'd carried this same thought, had opened his mouth to speak and the words had formulated in his brain yet not found their way to his lips.
Drumming his fingers upon the bed sheet that pulled tight over her hip he felt Elsie shift beside him and he licked his lips, swallowed to clear his throat and opened his mouth, giving air to his words.
"There's something going on you're not telling me about." He said gently into the darkness, careful to keep his voice level. "I know I'm not the most observant of men, but I know you, and I know when you're keeping something from me."
Elsie kept her eyes closed, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, voice muffled by her pillow. "Charles, I'm tired."
"You've been constantly tired this term - I've hardly seen you some weeks."
"Too many curriculum changes all at once," she said by way of explanation. "And this stupid marking without levels nonsense. All it shows is a government who don't know what the hell they're doing." She said, still capable of venom even when half asleep when it came to the Conservatives.
As concerned as he was he smiled at that; he knew nothing could be that terrible if she was still able to get on her high horse over politics, though he wasn't about to mention the fact that Corbyn was so very unpopular amongst the masses that he stood no chance of being elected to power.
"I am on your side, you know." He settled on instead.
She smiled, taking hold of his hand and kissing the back of it. "I know and I'm sorry." She finally said. "I know I've neglected you..." She turned over to face him, snuggling against his side, one arm curling over his stomach.
He kissed the top of her head, "I don't feel neglected." He assured her. "That's not what I meant. There's something else. I understand, you know."
"Understand what?"
"Anna getting engaged, I mean in my mind it's about time he made an honest woman of her – they do have a chid together. But I understand it must feel odd, knowing she's getting married."
It wasn't that. Not that at all.
"I'm pleased they're getting married. But yes, I suppose it is a little strange, knowing your daughter is marrying." She closed her eyes, trying to turn her mind off. "I have to get up early tomorrow for this course, my train is 7:30."
"I know, I'll be quiet. I have my book thing tomorrow night so shall we have dinner together when I get in? I can prepare something in the day, warm it through when I get home."
"Sure." She rubbed her hand over his, "I won't wake you in the morning."
"You know you always do," he kissed her head. "Can't sleep without you."
She wasn't sure how she felt about that statement. No, he couldn't, nor she him, so attuned to each other as they were now. Or yes, he could, of course he could. They weren't one person. They had to be able to survive independently of one another.
Soon she heard him snoring and she eased from his embrace, lying on her back and fiddling with her wedding band.
Early Sunday morning and there was ice on the ground, leaves tinged with frost and trees hung still in the clear air.
Charles was up early with the cats. Mary – by far the most arduous of the two – had taken to pulling the carpet by his side of the bed whenever she wanted his attention. Elsie had mumbled her annoyance and shoved Charles in the side with her elbow as she'd turned and he'd slipped out of bed, grumbling, as he found his robe and slippers and followed the two felines downstairs.
It was barely even light, and besides he'd wanted a lie in with his wife, just a quiet day with her before the rush of Christmas began. She'd been so busy with work this term, always frantic, always rushing.
He shivered, wrapping his gown tighter around him and glancing to the two fur balls eating side-by-side, "Hurry up you two." He chided, running a hand along the top of the radiator and checking the heating was working – they'd had trouble with the pipes of late and he'd had no end of dealings with the man who'd put it in. He wanted to make sure all was in working order before they had their family staying for the Christmas break.
"Right, done?" He asked, as they stretched languidly. "Come on, out you go for a couple of hours." He unbolted the kitchen door, "Scratching my bloody carpet."
William happily skipped out, jumping onto the garden wall and plodding along in the chilled morning air. Mary preened and paraded in front of Charles; taking her time by digging her nails into the door mat.
"Come on, nuisance." He moved the door slightly until she got the hint and tiptoed out onto the slippery path, moving elegantly to the bench where Charles had spent many a day during the summer months.
He locked the door and turned off the light, making his way back up to bed.
Elsie was on her side, her back to him, and he peeled the bed sheets back, kneeling on the mattress and smiling at the sight of her smooth, pale skin. Thank the heavens she didn't like nightwear – instead they had to sleep with a heavy quilt and piles of blankets.
He dropped his robe to the floor and climbed in beside her, sliding his hand down her spine and circling his palm over her hip and coming to rest on her stomach, delighting in her slight moan of pleasure as she backed up against him.
"What time is it?" She mumbled.
"Just after seven." He placed a kiss to the back of her neck, closing his eyes as he snuggled up against her.
"Not even morning. Go back to sleep." Her hand was on top of his.
"Can't sleep too late though, I've more wrapping to do."
She smiled at that, "More? How many presents are you going to buy that little girl?"
"As many as she likes, besides they aren't from me, they're from Santa Claus."
"I beg to differ seeing as that downstairs bedroom is stuffed full of brightly wrapped presents."
"Takes me an age to wrap them too; why must they put things in funny shaped packaging? Oh, do we have plenty of batteries in too? We're gonna need batteries come Christmas Day."
She rolled onto her back, finally opening her eyes to look up at him, "I can see Christmas morning is going to be a noisy occasion."
He looked sheepishly at her, "I bought that car."
"Not that pink thing!"
"It's a retro Beetle," he insisted, "and I even got her name on the number plate – Lottie."
She chuckled, "Lottie 1. You soft thing, she'll still hardly know what's going on this year."
"She'll be three soon enough and she's the smartest girl of her age, she'll know exactly what's going on. Besides, I've read numerous books to her all about The Christmas Story and Santa Claus and the like…"
She placed a finger to his lips, smiling, "Shush. And kiss me."
He did just that until she snuggled down against him again, closing her eyes, "You best have saved some time and money to purchase something for me."
"Ah, not to worry, your Christmas joy will come from seeing Charlotte in that car."
"Bugger off." She felt him kiss her head. "You've woken me now; tell me some facts to send me back to sleep."
"Dull facts, I heard in that request." He pulled the sheets up around her, "I'm gonna keep you awake instead…" He ran his fingertips down her back, "You know, Mrs Carson, there was a text written in the 12th century, 'The Art of Courtly Love', that declared that there should be no love between husband and wife."
"Oh, really?" She rested her cheek against his bare chest. "What should there be, then?"
"Just a business deal."
"I thought you were going to say just sex."
"Far from it. Everyone had a bit on the side, to make up for the lack of action in the marital bed."
"Are you telling me you want to return to this type of marriage?"
"Absolutely not," he laughed, "but you said historical facts."
"I thought you were going to tell me things like when Penicillin was invented. Things like that."
"1928, Alexander Fleming."
"See."
"Scottish too. But then, all the greats are," he tapped her bottom with the palm of his hand. "Also, did you know that you were only allowed to have sex in the missionary position in the Middle Ages?"
"What a load of rubbish."
"I'm telling you, if you, my little Elsie, fancied going on top or trying any other fanciful position, you could be sentenced."
"Well, isn't it lucky that I don't at all enjoy sex?"
"Ha! Let's see, shall we…"
She was laughing as he tickled her waist, squirming against him, "Stop it. I'm still sleepy." She turned over again, flopping onto her stomach, her arms bent above her on the pillow. "Besides, I'm a grandmother now."
"Mmm, but not my grandmother." He took his time pushing the bed sheets down, dipping his head down to lick along her spine, "and this will help you sleep."
She giggled into her pillow. "Will it indeed?"
"Without a doubt," he continued to kiss down her back, massaging her shoulders and down until he reached her bottom, nestling between her legs and pressing his palms against the soft flesh. "My beautiful wife," he whispered, bending his head to kiss her lower back. "Beautiful, sexy, wife…"
"Sexy indeed…" She mumbled, but then his hand was slipping between her legs, finding that place only for him, soft and warm. Then she moaned, her face buried against the pillow.
Slow and easy as he continued to cover her back in kisses and his fingers upon her – around, inside, gently loving, like she was china. She arched her back, parted her legs further until his body was against hers, hard and firm.
"Darling," he whispered by her ear and she shifted her head slightly, enough so their mouths could meet.
He slipped easily between her thighs, warm and supple, his home. And then inside her; his gasped affection, hers of pleasure.
Their movements were languid in the early morning, the position called for gentle, slow movements. And he was always tender, until she begged him, called his name.
The chemistry only true love could understand
You've opened my soul to happiness
And shown me new ways of love
When she pushed against the mattress with her palms, he took her meaning and pulled back, breathing heavily as he knelt and watched her turn over, flopping back on their pillows and looking hungrily at him.
Her knees were pressed together and he rested his hands on them, content for a moment just to look at her, all pale and yet flushed as she laid back. Hair over the pillows, freckles dark against her skin.
She shifted a foot, teased his throbbing erection with her toes.
"Teasing woman," he muttered, but he was smiling, parting her knees and lying on top of her, kissing her deeply. "How I love you."
"Hmm, show me." She said wickedly, licking the shell of his ear.
"Each and every day if you'd let me."
It wasn't the last time he told her he loved her that morning, it was always the same, he'd whisper the words repeatedly alongside her name, gasp them as he shuddered inside her, fell against her, sated and enveloped by every inch of her body.
For Elsie it always came after, as she held him sleepily against her, her fingers in his hair, stroking his scalp, rubbing his neck and shoulders. Then she'd say it, how she loved him, and he'd fall asleep with those words in his mind.
There was a distorted image in the reflection of the window at the opposite side of the train – a man, animated as he chatted away to his unseen companion; but he appeared to have three faces; one facing towards his companion, the other out of the window to the view, one straight ahead towards Elsie. She watched it for a while, fascinated by the interchange.
When she switched her gaze to the window beside her, she could see her own face in the glass; pale skin, dark eyes and mouth, like a sketch of something not quite real. She blinked, focused instead on the countryside beyond her reflection – it had rained incessantly for weeks now and the land was sodden, drenched and oozing. The pond outside the window now swelled as if was making a stand. White birds skimmed its surface, ducks floated, pecking at invisible flecks of food.
Was this her? This three faced being without a centre? She'd felt so melancholy of late, constantly so, which was silly really considering the fact things had never been better for her. She was married to a man she was ridiculously in love with. She had a blossoming granddaughter whom she adored. Her daughter was settled and happy with a growing business to be proud of and finally engaged to a man she was in love with. Work was what it was, that was a given; yet her family and her home was more beautiful than she'd ever dreamed they could be. And yet…
And yet. Always that. Always something bothering her. Not Joe; that business was long done with. The case settled out of court. She put the settlement into Charlotte's bank account – it seemed the best thing to do. Her therapy continued but at times that felt more like routine than necessity.
But this. This something in her chest. In her breast, to be more specific. She'd noticed it in a changing room, of all places, at the pool with Charlotte dressed and sitting on the plastic bench beside her waiting – armbands waving in mid-air. And Elsie had tugged her swimsuit up and cupped her breasts as she moved them into the right position inside the costume – left, then right, then a pause. A sharp glance to Charlotte's little face. And then her palm sliding around her right breast again, fingers seeking something unsure – it was there, no mistaking it.
She kept her eyes fixed on Charlotte's beautiful blue eyes.
"Na…na…na…" the little girl babbled, waving the armband at her.
"Yes baby," she let go of her breast. "Granny will put your armbands on and then we'll go find Granddad and do some swimming." She knelt down, easing the plastic loop gently over the tiny arm. She felt tears prick her eyes, unexpected really, hot and flustered as she was with the smell of chlorine and the noise of excited children surrounding her.
"Goodness, these are tight aren't they?" She blinked rapidly to clear the moisture from her eyes.
She'd watched Charles play with their granddaughter in the shallow pool. Remained floating at the side as he'd eased Charlotte back and forth through the water, his delighted smile at her delighted yelps of excitement and joy. He was so happy.
And it seemed so unfair.
She'd convinced herself it would be nothing. Had considered telling him that night and getting him to feel it too, to check it wasn't her mind, but she hadn't.
They'd had dinner, chatted about how Charlotte was coming on in the water, watched a movie, gone to bed, he'd wanted to make love but she'd held him instead, gently put him off, kissed him until he'd slipped off to sleep exhausted from the swimming. And then she'd tiptoed to the bathroom, stood against the door and stripped down her nightgown so she could feel properly.
It was still there. It was still there. Still there.
The train slowed and she closed her eyes as it pulled into the station. She felt sick. An odd swirling in the pit of her stomach that usually formed the onset of nausea. She'd resolved that she had to tell him at some point, probably, but not yet, not until she knew for sure what it was.
She'd lied, of course, when she'd gone to the hospital. In fact she hadn't even told him when she went to the Doctors, or that within 5 minutes the Doctor had been filling out a referral form and she'd have to go for tests as soon as possible.
The NHS seemed a constant source of complaint, along with education, on the news. Out-dated systems, haemorrhaging money, not enough beds, not enough care. She knew how it felt to work in a ridiculed system, but give them their dues, within a week of seeing her Doctor she was sitting in a hospital corridor waiting for her core biopsy.
Gripping her handbag in her lap she focussed on the leaflets stuck haphazardly on the pin-board along the corridor; curled, yellowing edges where the light from the window had caught and aged them. That smell hospitals have – like anaesthetic and aeroplane food mixed together. Glancing at her watch she tried to imagine what was going on elsewhere – Charles and Charlotte would be probably just be getting to the supermarket; she liked to ride up front in the trolley and hold his list. Anna and John would be rushing about, no doubt, midday and people stocking up on presents. School would be getting out in forty-five minutes; it wasn't the best time of year for her to have an afternoon off but it couldn't be helped. She felt guilty nonetheless.
She felt guilty about a lot of things at the moment.
"Mrs. Carson," a middle-aged woman said, appearing out of a door along the corridor, clipboard in hand.
"Yes," Elsie said hesitantly, getting to her feet. She'd almost forgotten her name.
"Come this way, please."
She nodded, following behind her, hooking her bag over her arm. She wondered what she'd have to take off – she'd gone for a skirt and blouse to try and make it easier, had chosen a plain bra, as if that mattered. As if whoever did this would care.
It seemed she'd been poked and prodded all afternoon in the clinic: a clinical examination, mammography, the biopsy.
Results in a week. Right before Christmas. Right before she broke up from work. And then she'd know for sure. And then she'd tell Charles. Or maybe when Christmas was over. Maybe there'd be nothing to tell.
She'd focussed on that fact – perhaps there'd be nothing to tell. 9 out of 10 patients found it was benign. And then there'd be nothing to tell. Still, she'd avoided him seeing her topless, had started wearing a nightgown to bed, blaming the chilly weather, didn't let him fondle her breasts how he might when they were cuddling.
Once she thought of telling Beryl, when they were having coffee one evening after work. But she had enough on her plate, perhaps in another time, another place, she would have confided in her. But Beryl had children of her own, a business of her own, concerns. Elsie didn't want to add to them.
"You alright Elsie?" John asked, coming into the kitchen.
She looked up surprised; there was a pile of unmarked books on the table before her, and her hand was hanging in mid-air, a pen dangling from her fingers.
"Sorry, must've dozed off for a moment," she smiled, slipping off her glasses. "Didn't realise you were here."
"Came to pick up terror. You're not usually home this early, are you?"
"No, not usually. I got away as soon as I could – problems with the heating in school," she lied, "figured I may as well mark here where it's warm. See my little girl. She finished in the bath?"
John took a seat across from her, nodding, "Yeah. We're grateful to Charles, you know. I hope you don't think we're taking advantage."
"Course not, not at all. He loves it. All of this – spending his time with her, giving her her tea, bathing her."
"We're just so busy at the moment…"
"John," Elsie assured him, reaching to touch his hand, "I know you are. We both know you are, believe me, nobody is judging you. I'm glad you're doing so well. I wouldn't be letting you marry my daughter if I thought differently."
It was his turn to smile, "Now, that I do believe. She's got your spirit, I can tell you that, in fact both of them have. Anna was showing me pictures the other day, she's putting something together for Charles, she told you right?"
"She did." Elsie relaxed back in her chair, "I had to email photos."
"I can't believe how much Charlotte looks like you did as a baby, Anna's fair colouring but your facial expressions, no doubt."
"Oh dear." Elsie chuckled, "And Charles said she'd started saying 'honey' with a Scottish accent too."
"She has! Will just come out with it too."
"Do you think, I mean, will you have more?"
"Children? I'd like to, a boy would be nice but I wouldn't care either way. I want to marry her first though, something small, something simple."
Elsie nodded, "And you'll take care of them for me, won't you, and Charles?"
John frowned, "You know I will."
"Daddy!" Charlotte sang as she skipped into the kitchen, clean and warm in her Gruffalo onesie, "Arles taught me new song."
"Did he indeed," John scooped her into his lap, kissing her head. "Mmm, you smell lovely and cuddly."
"Aahhh-way in manger, no rib for bed."
"Crib." Charles corrected, carrying in her bag.
"Forgot," she said in a small voice, looking up at him.
"The little…" he prompted.
"Lord Jesus lay…"
"…Down his sweet head," Elsie finished for her.
"You know Nanny?"
"I do darling." She held her arms out for her, grimacing inwardly at the sudden tightness in her breast. "Come give me a squidge before you go."
Charlotte happily hopped down from one lap and into her Grandma's. "Sing in church." She said, hugging Elsie.
"We will sing it in church, on Christmas Eve, and you'll go and sit by the nativity scene when the vicar asks you to."
"On own, Nanny?"
"You're a brave girl. You can do that. We'll all be there."
"You have your new dress to wear for Christmas Eve too, Lottie," John pointed out.
"Sssparkly gold." She smiled proudly at Elsie.
"Beautiful. Granny can't wait to see you in it, angel." She pressed a kiss to her forehead, rubbing her back.
"Come on then Gruffalo," Charles said, bending to put her shoes on. "Let's get these on and then your coat and hat and off you go back to Mummy."
"Fffanks. I is wanting you morrow."
John smiled, holding up her coat, "Try again, Lottie."
"I is… seeing you morrow?"
"Yes, sweetie, Granddad will see you tomorrow." He kissed her cheek, letting John put her coat on and pick her up as she yawned. "We've got to go delivering Christmas presents and cards around the village, so we'll play at being Postmen."
"We have red van, like Pat?"
"Just Granddad's car, I'm afraid."
"You can pretend though." Elsie pointed out. "And you do have your Jess cat to bring."
"Yes." Charlotte shouted. "Jess cat be under Lottie's bed."
"You best find her out then," John said, carrying her to the door. "See you tomorrow Charles, and night Elsie," he said, watching her for a second. "Take care."
December 23rd
Elsie turned the hoover off and yanked the plug from the socket, winding the cord around and shouting as she did so, "You can come out now."
In took a couple of minutes but soon two sceptic cats crawled out from beneath the bed, glancing around tentatively before William jumped onto the bed and kneaded the bed-clothes and Mary sauntered out to the landing.
"We're home," she heard Charles shout from the hall. She listened to him bustling about as she continued to tidy the bedroom, heard him unbuckle Charlotte from the pushchair, chattering away to her as he took off her wellington boots.
"Granny's upstairs," he said. "And we're going to get you some –,"
"Nanny, nanny." Charlotte babbled, pointing at the stairs. "Come play."
"Yes, that's right. Upstairs. And we can get you some dinner, can't we?"
He unbuttoned her coat and slid off her scarf before lifting her from the pushchair. "Granny's been tidying up ready for Santa coming, he's going to bring my precious angel lots of presents, isn't he?" He kissed her forehead as he put her on her feet and she toddled down the hall standing before the tree at the end and staring up at the twinkling lights in fascination.
"You like those, don't you?" Charles got to his feet, groaning at the ache in his knees as he did so. "Look at these ones Granny did," he bent to turn on the plug by the stairs and the stair rail lit up in blue and silver, as it swirled around the wooden handrail. "Pretty, aren't they?"
"Witty lights." Charlotte said, gripping Charles' leg as she stood beside him and pointed up the stairs.
Mary was slowly, cautiously, making her way down towards them, fully grown now and with a thick, full coat (something Charles cursed whenever he hoovered up mountains of the cat's fur).
"Ma. Ma…wee." The little girl said, toddling across the hall towards where the cat sat on the bottom step of the stairs.
"Mar – ree." Charles said slowly. "Remember what I said baby girl, just pat her gently." Charles stood watching her stretch out a hand to the cat. "Gentle. Gentle."
"Tull, tull…" the little girl repeated, her hand inching closer to the dubious animal.
Mary bristled as the child toddled towards her, her tail fluffing.
"Charlotte, maybe we should leave her alone for the moment." He watched amused as a podgy hand curled towards the cat, fingers itching to touch.
"Hello my little honey bunch," Elsie said as she came down the stairs. "You got a hug for Granny?"
Saved from the child, Mary jumped from the stairs and disappeared off into the conservatory as Elsie sat on the bottom step and caught Charlotte as she wobbled into her knees.
"Hello beautiful." She whispered, pressing kisses to the blonde head and lifting her into her lap. The girl dropped a leg either side of Elsie's waist and pressed her forehead briefly against her chest.
"Hello Nanny," she said happily and Elsie cradled her to her momentarily.
"You had a nice walk with Granddad?"
The girl nodded, leaning back. Her hand reached up to play with the bright buttons on Elsie's cardigan.
"We went on the swings," Charles said, folding up the pushchair. "Again."
"Went swings again. Again! Again!" Charlotte clapped smiling and Elsie bobbed her back and forth on her lap, holding her hands tight as the little girl leant as far back as she could until Elsie gently pulled her forward again. They rocked like that for a while, Charlotte giggling as Elsie sang, 'row, row, row your boat.'
"Now. What would madam like for her dinner?" Elsie asked.
"I bet its toast." Charles said, "And creamy cheese."
"Yes." Charlotte bobbed on Elsie's lap. "Nanny, eese."
"Eese." Elsie laughed. "Can you say the ch sound for me yet? Ch, ch, ch…"
Charlotte giggled, blobbing her tongue out and reaching to tangle her fingers around Elsie's necklace.
"Try sweetheart, ch, ch…"
"Ch."
"Yay! Well done Lottie." She kissed her forehead. "Now then, ch."
"Ch."
"Eese."
"Eessssse."
Elsie smiled. "Ch-eese."
"Ch. Eese.
"That's pretty close. What about Granddad instead of Charles, hmm?"
"Arles," Charlotte repeated.
"No," she pointed at herself, "Granny…"
"Nanny." Charlotte repeated.
Then pointed back at Charles again. "Granddad."
Charlotte screwed her face up as she stared at Charles, pouting before she said, "Nandad."
Elsie laughed, "Oh very good. Very, very good." She hugged her again, "Nanny loves you." And kissed her cheek.
Charles held his hands out and Elsie let Charlotte turn and be scooped up by him, one arm easily supporting her as she sat in the crook of it.
"Nandad hey, little munchkin." He said, tickling beneath her chin as the little girl giggled with delight.
Elsie followed them into the kitchen, popping a slice of bread into the toaster and taking out Charlotte's plastic Minnie Mouse plate from the cupboard.
"Granddad will have some toast too, please, Nanny." He said, as he got Charlotte into her highchair.
"Granddad will not because Granddad is hosting a party later and will be eating plenty there."
"Spoilsport," he smiled, moving to slide his hands around her waist and kiss her.
"Mmm, I can see I'm positively hateful." She teased, returning the kiss.
Loud banging against the glass interrupted them, "Look Lottie, Auntie Beryl is here." Elsie said, moving to open the door. "Hello dear."
"Bloody freezing out there." Beryl said as she bustled into the kitchen and Charles frowned at her language. "Sorry, forget the most important person in the world is here." Beryl teased, moving to take Charlotte from her highchair. "Cuddle for Auntie Bezza, have you? Bzzz Bzzz…" She hummed; it had been a game when Charlotte had been learning names, she couldn't manage Beryl but she could manage 'bzzz'.
"Bezzz, Bezzz," Charlotte was happy to play the game and vibrated her lips, sending spit down Beryl's arm.
"Nice." She bobbed the little girl about. "You having some dinner then?"
"Toast and ch-eeese." Charlotte said, pointing to where Elsie was slicing her toast into soldiers.
"Very good," Elsie said as she put the plate down on the table in front of her, "Come on then, back in your chair."
"Hair."
"Yes, your chair." She took her from Beryl, "she seems to struggle with the ch phoneme."
"Hard to get your lips around," Beryl observed, taking off her scarf.
Elsie sat Charlotte back down, "You want Nandad to feed you?"
"Nandad?" Beryl smirked, glancing at him.
Charles rolled his eyes, "Person she spends most of her time with doesn't get a proper name, it's been Arles for well over a year." He carried over Charlotte's cup, "And she can do it herself. She gets mad if you try to help now." He fastened a bib around her. "Off you go Princess."
Charlotte nodded repeatedly as she squashed her toast into the small bowl of cream cheese and picked up a slice of tomato in the other, pushing it into her mouth.
"See, better table manners than her father." Charles laughed, patting her shoulders. "There stuff in the car Beryl?"
"In the boot; two cakes and some other bits… I'll come help, it'll be easier." She decided, shoving up the sleeves of her coat.
"I suppose I best get this lamb in the oven." Elsie said to Charlotte as the other two headed outside. "Otherwise it won't be ready for the party."
"Par – tae."
"Yes, you know that word don't you darling." She watched her eat. "You're enjoying that, aren't you?" As she watched her she suddenly felt her eyes fill with tears, and she shuddered as she leant back against the kitchen top, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Two cakes, she says," Charles complained as he kicked open the back door with his foot. "They weigh a ton." He deposited them on the side, glancing up in time to see Elsie hastily wiping her face.
"What's happened?"
"Nothing."
"Darling…?" He moved towards her but she turned away from him.
"Nothing."
And then Beryl was in the kitchen and giving Charles orders and Elsie was able to brush his concern away.
"Darrrrlin, darr…lin!" Charlotte chirruped. "Ch-eeese, toast, toe-ma-toes." She waved her cup in the air, "Apple juice Nandad!"
And the three adults laughed at her delighted expression.
"So, Merry Christmas," Charles said, as he stood at the doors to the conservatory, raising his glass in the air with one hand and balancing his granddaughter on the opposite side. "And thank you to the glorious Beryl and her wondrous cakes and, as she puts it, other bits." The assembled guests laughed.
"And to my beautiful wife, for putting this on." He looked to Charlotte who was fiddling with his shirt collar, trying to pull it into her mouth. "When I was a boy Christmases consisted of me and my mother and repeats on TV, and for years, for many years – as I'm sure most of you will recall – I was the guest, so it feels rather special to be hosting this year's get-together in my own home, with my wife, and my daughter, and this little angel," he juggled Charlotte on his hip, "all present."
"Nandad, presents for me!" Charlotte proclaimed, bouncing purposefully against him, and the guests laughed again.
"Shall we eat, then?" Elsie suggested, interrupting his musings. "Before the lamb goes cold?"
"Please, get on with it, before he starts taking us through how she's already learning Pythagoras' rule!" John teased.
"Yes, of course." He turned his attention back to the guests, glancing from Anna's beaming expression to Richard's ruddy-face, "Go eat!" He said, waving them off towards the tables lining the lounge, creaking under the weight of the food.
He felt Elsie's hand on his arm, sliding around his back as she stepped in front of him, "Are you alright?"
"I might ask you the same," he said gently.
"Ow!" Elsie yelped, turning her attention to Charlotte's sticky fingers that were tugging at her hair. "Ow little madam." She smiled, tickling her granddaughter's tummy. "Time for bed for you, I think."
"Bed time Nanny."
"Oh no Grandma," Charles complained, tickling his nose against Charlotte's neck, causing her to giggle and slap at his face. "No, no, no Granny, don't part us." He made great smacking noises with his mouth, "for am I going to eat her all up instead of Auntie Beryl's food."
"Nandad!" Charlotte chirped as she laughed. "Not eat me."
"Bed time," Elsie insisted. "It's late. And she's all clean after her bath and in her pyjamas, don't want her getting over-tired. Want me to take her? Or get Anna to put her to bed?"
"Absolutely not, whilst she's staying here over Christmas I get that delight."
Elsie shook her head at him and briefly touched his cheek, "Old softie." She kissed Charlotte, "Night, night sweetheart. Look at you getting your Granddad to choose you over roast lamb."
"Want lam-lam."
"Yes Granddad will find your little lamb for the bed," Charles assured her. "Goodnight Granny," he put his glass down, waving his hand slowly at Elsie until Charlotte copied him.
Elsie watched him move across the room, prattling on to the little girl the entire time he moved.
"You know," Isobel noted, standing in front of her and refilling her champagne glass, "I thought it impossible for him to adore anyone more than he adores you."
Smirking, Elsie took a sip of the fizzing liquid, "Apparently not."
"You think Anna will have more?"
"I'm not sure. They seem to be settling into a routine now; getting engaged, the shop doing well. This set up with Charles having Lottie a few days a week, he loves it, I'm not sure how he'll cope when she starts at nursery. He took her to his bowls meeting last week!"
"Poor kid."
"The entire team spent their meeting drinking tea and watching her roll coloured balls across the carpet, they're now all convinced she's made to be an international sporting superstar."
"At bowls!" Isobel chuckled.
"Quite!" Elsie glanced to her and they both set off laughing uncontrollably – the perfect image of a bunch of old men transfixed by a baby rolling a set of sponge balls across a tired carpet.
"She alright?" Anna asked as she tiptoed across the lounge to Charlotte's room.
"Yes. Asleep pretty much as soon as I laid her down, I didn't get through two pages of The Smartest Giant in Town."
"Oh and you do the voices so well."
"Yes. Well." Charles muttered as he eased the bedroom door closed; "We can tell them to jolly well turn down that music, she'll be woken up."
"She sleeps through anything, luckily." Anna assured him, patting his arm. "And she is on the third floor."
"I'll go check on her in a little while."
"John will go," Anna insisted. "You've looked after her for the past two days while we've worked. You must be exhausted."
"I don't mind."
"Dad, that's not the point." Anna paused on the landing, "Have you noticed anything different about Mum of late?"
"In what regard?" Charles gripped the banister rail. "I mean, she's been working so hard."
"She always has, though, she just seems… different… more than tired."
Charles shrugged reluctantly; he had noticed it, of course he had, but he wasn't about to let Anna worry.
"Touch of cold, perhaps," he said, moving on.
They started to make their way downstairs.
"I'm glad the business is doing so well," Charles said, "That you've taken advantage of the Christmas rush, it'll stand you in good stead for January."
Anna knew this; she'd been running the business for long enough now, she knew the routine, the peaks and troughs. But she let him advise her, partly because she was so very grateful for all he'd given her, partly because she was very much aware of how he needed to feel involved. That bookstore had been his life before Elsie; it wasn't easy to simply walk away.
"We thought we might close for a couple of weeks in January, take a cheap holiday again, like last year. Make the most of it before Charlotte starts having to attend nursery and school and the like and we can't take term time breaks."
There were two things that bothered Charles in that statement: one, that he'd be without them for two weeks; and two, that his beloved Lottie would be starting school and he'd not have the pleasure of her company several days a week, AND she'd be exposed to other children with other ideas and he'd not be able to guide her as he had been doing. Read to her. Educate her. Teach her right from wrong.
"Whatever's that frown for?" Richard asked, as his old friend came down the stairs, "You look like someone stole your car, punctured your bike wheels and left you in the middle of nowhere."
"School. How did you feel when your kids started school?"
"Didn't really affect me. I was working, I was gone before they got up and home after they'd been bathed and put in pyjamas. But grateful I guess, for Izzy, she needed a bit of a break in the day. Especially with three of them round her feet."
He slapped Charles on the back, "Come on, let's get you some wine, and some of that lamb your wife's roasted, it's delicious. Nice soft roll, bit of mint jelly, perfect."
"Hmm, yes. Sounds good."
Richard was chuckling as he followed Charles into the busy kitchen.
"You can't watch her every day."
"No. But I want her to be alright, taken care of, you read such things these days."
"Well, choose a fine nursery, do you research."
"I don't want to interfere," he watched as Richard made him up a sandwich. "I already worry I get too involved, she's not my daughter after all, I don't want to come across an old fuss pot."
"Then do it gently, talk it through with Elsie first. I'm sure she'll know how to handle it." He handed Charles a plate, "Besides, you're besotted with the kid, anyone can see that."
"Well, I…"
Richard laughed again, "No need to be embarrassed. It's kinda cute. Whatcha got her for Christmas?"
"Oh Lord, what haven't I?" Charles mumbled through a mouthful of food. "Beer, not wine," he said, as Richard held up a choice. "Well, Els tells me I'm not to buy anymore. I can't tell you how many things I've wrapped."
"The man who used to get gift vouchers and if he did buy presents would get them wrapped in store."
"Elsie tells me that's not personal and gifts should be personal."
"I daresay she's right. So," he handed Charles a beer, taking a drink of his own. "Give me the highlights."
"A car." Charles said tentatively, and Richard coughed with laughter into his beer.
"Let me get this straight," Beryl said with mirth, "he's bought her a car?"
"Yes."
"An actual car?"
"Well, no, not a real life car," Elsie refilled her friend's wineglass, "that would be silly. A toy car."
"Ohh I get it, a remote control thing?"
"No, she can sit in it. To her, it's a car. She can drive round and the like; break my plant pots in the back yard no doubt. He even got the bloody number plate done specially for her. And a matching helmet, just to be safe. L1 on the front of it."
Beryl threw her head back as she laughed, "I think that's wonderful."
"It is wonderful, he absolutely adores her. They're the best of friends you know, and she loves him too, I don't get a look in when Granddad's about."
"It's cos he's strong, can lift her up, twirl her round, shoulder rides and the like." Beryl hiccupped. "God, I haven't drunk so much bloody Champagne since your wedding."
"That seems an age ago," Elsie reflected. "Such a perfect day."
"It really was. You know how my cake business has tripled in size since that day! Orders all over the place now."
"Have you considered Anna's proposal?"
"I am considering it, or rather, Daisy and I are. When they moving out, anyhow?"
Elsie took a slice of Christmas cake from the platter on the table and bit into it, brushing crumbs from her lips as she chewed. "The completion date is scheduled for early February, they should be in before spring really kicks in. And Lottie's so excited about having her own new room, she's picked out the colours, told the designer exactly what she wants. Well, pointed to the picture in the booklet."
"A new build, hey? Far cry from this place."
"I know, but it's affordable for them, the business is doing well, they're expanding. They're quite the pair, as it turns out. And you know, think about it, you and Daisy having that third floor, your patisserie there. You could do so much with the space, knock the wall down between the kitchen and the diner and create a huge space to work in. Then the lounge through to the bedroom, that could be one great shop space, Anna would serve your stuff downstairs…"
"I know, I know. It sounds wonderful." Beryl finished her drink, "I like the idea and Daisy is practically ecstatic about it, she hates working cleaning at that bloody school every night."
"It was only meant to be a part time thing."
"I know. We could afford it; Bill assures me we can manage, now he has William and Andy helping on the farm, I'm just hesitant to make the jump I guess. But it would be wonderful, wouldn't it, creating a kind of retirement fund? Something to pass onto the kids."
"How's all that going, with those two boys?"
"Like living on a farm with dogs on heat, and Daisy doesn't know what she wants, both of them making eyes at her, she's a silly girl at times."
Elsie laughed, "Weren't we all, at her age?"
"Maybe."
"What's he getting you?"
"Who? Charles? I have no idea, jewellery I suspect. Books!" She laughed.
"And you him?"
"Actually, I bought him an easel, a good one too, a big one. And some canvases. I would've got the paint too but I have no idea what's best so I figured I'd just get vouchers and he can pick his own for that."
Beryl smirked.
"What?"
"You're as bad as Charles is with Lottie, fussing."
Elsie shrugged, "I just want to have a good day with him, that's all, with all of them."
When the house was settled and quiet three adults sat about in the now empty lounge with their brandy glasses and the dying fire casting an orange light upon their faces.
Charles made his way to join them.
"And…?" Anna asked.
"Fine, sleeping again. She was just having a moment, clearly." Charles moved to the bureau taking out a lighter. "Not lit the advent candles today."
"I noticed." Elsie said, curling her legs beneath her on the two-seater. "Didn't want to interfere, you seem to like your candle tradition."
"Hmm…"
"You've left it late tonight." She eyed him over the top of her brandy glass. "That one will be fine." She pointed with her index finger at the candle he was lighting on the mantelpiece. "It's skinny. This one," she indicated the larger advent candle on the stand behind the sofa, "is about a week behind."
"I know, it'd need to burn for fifteen hours a day I reckon to actually be on the day we require."
She shifted her legs as he went to sit at the opposite end of the couch, lifting her feet into his lap. "That means you're a week behind for Christmas, you'll have to wait for your presents." She teased.
"We can't have them," John said, getting up to refill all of their glasses. "Lottie seems drawn to anything she's not meant to touch – candles, the oven door."
"Won't it be wonderful when we're in the house?" Anna said, stretching out on the other sofa. "All that space."
"Wonderfully so," Elsie agreed. "And a garden for her."
"She has a garden here." Charles said, then bit his tongue. "I mean, for when she stays."
Elsie patted his leg, "She does dear. Did you enjoy the party?"
"Very much, thanks to you." He leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Did Beryl try to dance on the coffee table?"
"She did," Anna laughed. "Until Bill got her down."
"Tomorrow will seem fairly quiet in contrast." Elsie said, leaning in to Charles. "But I'm glad you enjoyed it, I wanted you to." She yawned.
"Yes, Mother, time for bed." Anna downed the remainder of her drink before getting to her feet. "I'll check on Lottie again before bed. And John will get up in the night if she wakes," she glanced at Charles. "I insist. You rest."
He nodded, taking a sip of his brandy.
"Night, night darling," Elsie said as Anna kissed her head. "You get some rest too, Mum. Don't go getting up early to make breakfast or anything, we can manage, let us do it for you."
Elsie glanced quizzically at her daughter, "Alright, thank you."
Charles pulled across his footrest and put his legs up, patting her knee. "Mind if I catch up on the news before bed?"
"Course not," she wiggled her toes. "Rub my feet, will you?"
"Sexy." He drawled, one hand flicking over the buttons on the remote, the other immediately massaging the soles of her feet.
"Thank you honey."
"Anytime."
December 24th – Christmas Eve
No sign of snow. And Charles had hoped for it. He'd got a sledge in the garage all ready, and images of pulling his beloved Granddaughter around the garden, maybe up the hill, if he had the energy.
It would have to wait. It was frosty out there, though, cold enough for him to stock up on logs both outside the back door and in the shed. He didn't want to be fussing Christmas Day.
"Nandad!" Charlotte yelled as she ran across the kitchen and out into the garden to where he stood.
"Munchkin," he turned to catch her, swinging her in the air, "you've got no shoes on."
"You do it." She kicked her legs about.
"You mustn't come outside without shoes on, sweetheart, your little toes will freeze." He tickled the bottom of her foot, heading back into the kitchen just as Anna came down the hallway towards them.
"Charlotte Carson! You do not run off when Mummy tells you to sit still."
Charlotte snuggled her face against Charles' chest, hiding away from her mother.
"Baby?" He questioned, shifting her hair from her face. "Did you not do as Mummy said?"
"Not want hair tie." She proclaimed.
"You have to have your hair done if we're going to go to church and see Baby Jesus, unless you don't want to do that." Anna said firmly, and for a moment Charles reflected on how the young girl he once knew was now an adult, now a mother.
Charlotte mumbled and squirmed in Charles' arms.
"Now then," Charles said, rubbing her back, "You do want to come with Mummy and Daddy and Granny and Granddad, don't you? Go to church and sing? Just as we've been practising?"
She nodded as he lifted her chin.
"And then we have a nice dinner and then we can come home and sit by the fire with marshmallows and Granddad's going to read to you before bedtime and then what happens tomorrow…?"
"Santa!" Charlotte yelled.
"That's right princess," he kissed her head. "So, shall we get your hair done all pretty to match your beautiful party dress?"
She nodded and let Charles put her onto a chair, and Anna shook her head at him, "I'm not sure who has whom wrapped around their finger."
"Your mother ready?"
"Not seen her, actually, I thought she must have been down here." She started fixing Charlotte's hair into two plaits. "You going to wear your Santa hat sweetie?"
"Yes, Mummy." She said, fiddling with the end of plait number one.
"Good."
"Nandad wear his too."
Anna laughed at Charles' expression, "Maybe not in church honey, tomorrow though I'm sure he will whilst we unwrap our presents."
When Elsie came in through the back door they both stared at her confused; she was dressed and ready to go. Charles glanced at her ice-covered walking boots, a mis-match with the dress she wore and fancy green coat.
"You been walking darling?" He asked.
"Just for a stroll around, I was ready quickly."
"You should've said, I would have joined you."
"I was fine," she set about unfastening her boots. "Wow, Lottie, you look a proper princess, don't you? You all ready for church?"
Charlotte nodded, "Nanny…" she drawled, tipping her head to one side.
"Yes sweetheart?"
"Can I have a lollipop?"
"A lollipop?" Elsie took a quick glance to Anna's face and when she nodded 'yes' she smiled at her Granddaughter. "Well, that depends on whether you can give me a nice kiss, right here." She pointed at her cheek.
Charlotte clambered down from the chair and kissed Elsie, smiling sweetly at her.
"Oh, that was very nice." She got to her feet again, lifting Charlotte into her arms. "Let's see where Granny's special jar is, shall we?"
"I know where is it."
"Where it is. And I bet you do, I suspect Granddad does too."
Elsie sat Charlotte on the work surface before opening the top door of the cabinet and taking out a glass jar half-filled with lollipops and other treats.
"How about a red and white striped one, for Christmas?"
Charlotte nodded, taking it from her and licking it. "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way," she sang between licks, swinging her legs back and forth.
"You're excited," Elsie said, pressing her hands against Charlotte's legs to prevent her from kicking the cupboard doors.
"Santa coming Nanny."
"He is. If we're all good."
"I'm the best!" She said proudly, "Nandad says so."
"Oh, well, he's never wrong." Elsie chuckled, lifting her down from the side.
"Be careful with that sweetheart," Anna said, "let's get your coat on and get in the car."
"What does Granddad get, then?" Charles asked, moving to cuddle his wife as she put the jar away.
"You want a lollipop?"
"Something a little more intimate," he whispered by her ear, before kissing the side of her neck.
"Be good now," she warned, "Santa is watching." She turned in his arms, "You'll make her big-headed, telling her she's the best."
"She is the best. And nothing wrong with a bit of confidence, Lord knows I lacked it as a child."
"Me too." She pressed on his shoulders, leaning up to kiss him deeply.
"What was that for?"
"Instead of a lollipop, come on, let's go. I need to find my shoes."
There was something about churches. Elsie didn't attend often these days, but as a child she'd accompanied her own Grandparents. It was tradition so she went along with it.
Charles too. He'd gone from birth with his Mother, had never questioned its role in his life.
The difference was that as adults Elsie had hardly ever attended, Charles was still there once a week. It had been different at their wedding; she'd been genuinely moved by the service, accepting of the words spoken. But it hadn't changed her habits, as bad a person as that made her in some eyes; Charles still went weekly, she used the time he was gone to mark, freeing up her Sunday afternoon for the pair of them.
Yet as she sat beside him that winter afternoon, Charlotte on his lap, Anna and John on his other side, she couldn't help but feel emotional. She felt almost detached from the service, her mind was wandering and she gazed about the grand building instead of focussing on the vicar's words.
When they stood to sing 'O Little Town of Bethlehem' she missed the page number and stood late, Charlotte giggling as she balanced on Charles' hip and watched Elsie struggle to find the right page in the order of service.
The tree was glorious, simple but glorious. It was huge, positioned to take advantage of the highest point of the church, and strings of gold lights adorned its branches, a star at the top. She stared at it for a long time, feeling Charlotte climb across into her arms, sitting on her lap and leaning her head against her chest as she listened to the readings and watched three children go to the altar to take part in proceedings. No doubt Charles would want that to be her one day, his little Lottie.
As she rested her chin on Charlotte's head and stared at the cross at the front of the church her eyes moved to the figures either side – Mary, Mother Mary is what her Gran had always called her. Her Granny was deeply religious; Elsie can still recall prayers she taught her, how fervently she would recite them to the young girl, she runs through the words in her mind as she stares at the statue: 'Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.'
The hour of our death. She hasn't dwelled much upon her own death. It is maudlin and seemed such an abstract idea, that she wouldn't be around. What difference would it make really, her absence in the world? Things wouldn't stop. Anna would lose a Mother, but she would have a husband soon, and she has a daughter to take care of. She wouldn't collapse. And her friends would cry – but they had their own lives, her gap would soon be filled.
But Charles – oh, what would be done with Charles? She ached at the thought of that, him a widower. Isolated in their home in the middle of nowhere. Deeming life cruel and unfair.
He glanced at her when she gasped sharply, and Charlotte looked up, "Nanny?" She whispered, and Elsie covered her own mouth with her hand, shaking her head and smiling to show she was all right.
"Look sweetie, the children are going to the nativity scene now, to sing to Baby Jesus." She pointed down to where they were gathering. "Come on, you can sit with them."
Charlotte cradled even tighter to Elsie, "Scared Nanny."
"How about Granny comes down with you?" She suggested, noting a few parents sitting with younger children. "Hmm, how about that?"
Charlotte nodded and Elsie lifted her from her lap, holding tight to her hand as they made their way out of the pew and down to where the other children has assembled.
Bending, Elsie knelt upon the cold, stone floor, seated herself and sat Charlotte in her lap. Together they listened to the vicar's words, watched as he blessed the crib, and, to Elsie's surprise, Charlotte was silent throughout, patiently and attentively listening to every word spoken.
The small sanctuary smelled of candles and incense and Charlotte was transfixed by the sight of the vicar using the thurible over the nativity scene.
"Nanny, smoke." She mumbled, pointing at it.
"Yes, precious," she rested her chin on her Granddaughter's head, unsure if the tears that stung her eyes were a by-product of the incense or not.
"Shall we sing to Jesus now?" The vicar asked, "Just the children for the first verse, I'm sure you all know Away in a Manger, don't you?"
Charlotte bobbed on Elsie's lap, turning quickly to glance back to where Charles stood watching from the pew. He smiled proudly at her as she nodded.
As the tiny, sweet voices sang the words – uneven, lacking rhythm, and clumsy in their offerings – Elsie closed her eyes. Her throat tight, tears pouring freely down her face now as she listened to her Granddaughter's voice alongside the other children. One day Charlotte would be in her own nativity, playing an angel, perhaps. A narrator? Singing? Giggling at the ones dressed as sheep.
As the congregation was invited to join in with the second verse, Elsie wiped the tears from her face, kissed Charlotte's head and hid her expression from those gathered around.
She'd never been emotional in church, never been an emotional woman full stop. In her life she'd learned how to hide her feelings, because it was easier than having somebody use them against her. But now, everything seemed to be at the surface and she had to share it, she had no choice anyhow.
"You know, I surprised myself," John said later as they sat in the pub. "I rather enjoyed that. Not been for years."
"Were you raised Catholic?" Elsie asked, refilling her wine glass, noting Charles' expression as she did so – it was her second glass already and they'd only been there fifteen minutes.
"I was, my Mother was Catholic. Haven't practised for years though, but I rather enjoyed today, seeing Lottie take it all in, watching her sing. The difference between the service compared to a Catholic one."
"It was a bit special," Elsie said, glancing to where Charlotte was kneeling in front of the fire, stroking the rather large cat that lay sprawled on the rug before it, Anna kneeling at the side of her as she did so.
"You lit a candle?" John noted. "Before we left."
"For my Mother," Elsie said quickly, fiddling with her napkin on the table. "I thought of her today, that's all."
"Ah," John said no more. He didn't know very much about Anna's grandparents, and he certainly didn't want to draw Elsie into talking about something she really didn't want to.
"I think I'll go wash my hands before they bring the starters out." He said, making a hasty exit.
Elsie kept her eyes fixed on her two girls by the fire playing with the old cat, she knew Charles was watching her, sensed him reach across the table for her even before he touched her hand.
"Tell me what's in your head." He said softly.
"Just a nice day, that's all." She shrugged, finally looking at him. "It felt…very Christmassy." She smiled, "Traditional. It's nice to see Lottie enjoying all of this, having all of this; I never did these kinds of things with Anna when she was a child. I'm glad Lottie has a very different childhood, a happy one."
"Making new traditions is nice," Charles agreed. "As we've been finding out over the past few years. Now," he turned her hand over, squeezing it, "tell me what's really going on, because I'm starting to worry, to fear the worse."
"Oh? And what would the worse be?" She said lightly, trying to subdue any fears with the tone of her voice.
"You leaving me."
"Oh goodness no," she said quickly, smiling genuinely for the first time all day. "No, never," she bent to kiss his hand. "Never."
"Then nothing can be as bad." He said hopefully, his eyes shining with affection.
"I will tell you, I promise I will, but not here, not now. I wanted to wait until after Christmas," she shrugged, "but I felt emotional today."
"Els…" he said earnestly, but she shushed him as Anna carried Charlotte back to the table.
"Nandad, I stroke fat cat."
"I saw sweetheart," he said, as she crawled into the chair next to him. "Shall we do some colouring whilst we wait for dinner to come?"
"I is having sausages and mash."
"Very festive. Granddad is having…"
"Pie!" Anna laughed.
"Yes, but I didn't get the offer of mash with mine, chips it is."
"You share my mash, Nandad." Charlotte said as she coloured in a giraffe with a pink crayon.
"That's very kind of you darling, but Granddad will be fine. I promise to make him mash tomorrow to go with his turkey." Elsie said.
Charles rubbed his hands together, "Best meal of the year, Elsie's Christmas Dinner."
"With a little help from Anna and John," Anna insisted. "Peeling potatoes, no doubt."
"What you peel, Nandad?" Charlotte asked.
"I will be far too busy playing with all the toys Santa is going to bring me than to peel anything."
The little girl laughed, "No toys for you, silly."
"Er, lots of toys for me." He tickled her waist, "lots and lots of toys. Or, maybe I'll just play with yours instead."
Elsie filled her wine glass again and sat back in her chair watching the interplay between the three of them; Christmas Eve and all were happy. Long may it continue.
"There's a lump in my breast." She whispered against his chest that night.
After a glorious meal and singing carols on the way home from the pub and sitting by the fire in their lounge as Charles read The Night Before Christmas to his granddaughter.
She told him that night. Because he wanted to know. He needed to.
Whatever he'd expected it wasn't that. He'd thought that it would be Joe. The attack. The case. All of that coming together. Perhaps he'd contacted her, it being Christmas and the like. That bastard he could deal with. There was a restraining order in place, and he'd kill him if he ever came near any one of his girls again.
But not this. Not his Elsie.
He opened his mouth to speak, but didn't, just lay in silence.
She let him. Closed her eyes again and pressed tighter against him, holding onto him. He was warm and secure, something un-shifting that she could hold onto.
When his fingers flexed upon her bare shoulder he let out the breath he'd been holding.
"How long?"
"Six weeks since I found it, around that."
He breathed again.
"And… and what…?"
"The Doctor sent me to the hospital, I had tests, a biopsy."
"I needed to know." He said softly, desperate not to apportion any kind of blame but equally as desperate to make it clear he'd do anything for her.
"I know. And I'm sorry for that."
"I would've gone with you, held your hand." He squeezed her shoulder as if to prove his point, suddenly feeling very emotional. "I'd go anywhere with you."
"Down the rabbit hole…" she smiled, but then kissed his chest. " I know." She kissed him again. "At the start I was going to tell you, but then I just… I didn't want you to worry. I needed to just deal with it on my own. Everyone was so happy, so looking forward to Christmas, the first with Charlotte really understanding things. I didn't want to hover like a grey cloud over that."
"Me though, Elspeth, you should have told me."
She turned over, pressing her palms against his chest so she could look at him, "I'm in trouble…" She said, her eyes glinting in the darkness, "You used my Sunday name."
"Don't joke."
"Don't be sad." She touched his face; "there's nothing to do now but just enjoy these few days we all have together, forget about it."
"You're my wife," he said helplessly. "And I love you, your secrets are safe with me."
"I know that." She agreed quietly, "it wasn't meant to be a secret, I just wanted to delay telling you all. And I'll always be your wife."
"I can't believe you've been going through this without me." He wasn't sure if he was upset at the thought of her going through it alone or the fact she could. "Promise me that whatever else happens you'll share it with me."
She gave a slight nod of her head, rolling her body away from his and sitting up, curling her legs beneath her as she leant over and switched on the lamp. He watched wide-eyed as she pushed down the straps on her nightgown and let it fall to her waist. He struggled to sit, keeping his eyes on hers as she completed the movement.
"Here," she said, moving her hand beneath her breast. "Right here."
He moved closer, nervous, foolishly so. "May I?"
She took his hand, laying it upon her breast, feeling his thumb sweep tenderly over the area.
"I'm scared by how easy it was to hide this from me."
"There was nothing easy about it. Besides you knew something was wrong. You just thought it was work."
"When do you get the results?"
She bit her lip, "I did. The end of last week."
"And…?" He said hopefully, but he already knew the answer; if it had been fine she would have just said, and she wouldn't be crying now.
He cupped her breast in his palm, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "I can't tell you how much I love you."
"I know you do."
"I can't imagine you..."
"Don't say that. Don't say-," she shook her head, moving to take hold of his hands in hers. "It's Christmas, let's be happy."
"I am, impossibly so."
"Good." She moved her mouth to his, kissing him slowly. "I am too."
"But you're my wife and I…"
"Shh, I'm here. I'm fine." She kissed him again, bidding him to lie down as she lay with him, kissing him, holding him, as she did so.
"What happens next?" He asked later, when they were cuddled together in the darkness.
"Operation, they'll remove the lump, discuss the options following that."
"And I'll be with you." He said firmly, squeezing her tight against him. "I won't leave you."
"I know."
"You need to tell Anna, she'll be upset if you don't."
"I will. Not tomorrow though, not if I don't have to, I don't want to ruin her day." She rubbed his chest, "Go to sleep now Santa, I know a little girl who'll be up early wanting you to play with her."
"Yes," he kissed her head, stroked her back, listened as she drifted to sleep.
But he didn't. He thought. And worried. And silently cried.
Christmas Day
It felt good to get some air after lunch, it cleared the head, and walking lessened some of the swelling in stuffed bellies.
Anna walked with her mother, her arm looped through hers as they wandered slowly down the village lane behind Charles and John who were trying to direct Charlotte's steering of the pink car.
"I'm not sure who's more excited about that thing," Anna said. "You do realise we're going to have tears when we have to leave that here tomorrow night. It'll have to stay until we move into the house."
"I know. I think Charles envisioned it staying here anyhow, parked in the garage beside his own." She chuckled.
"Are you okay, Mum, you seemed…well, kinda off yesterday?"
"I did get a little emotional in church, didn't I?" She looked up, gazing out over the Yorkshire countryside, "Look how beautiful it is today, no snow but at least it's dry and bright, crisp."
"Yes." Anna held tighter to her arm.
"I was thinking of my Mother yesterday, in church, and my Granny."
"Oh?"
"You know, you do know your Grandmother died from cancer, don't you?"
"No, I don't think I knew for sure. You never explicitly told me."
"You were only a child when it happened."
"I knew Uncle Fred did."
"Your Grandma, my Mother, well, it was a time when not much was known about it. And I lived here, in England, I hadn't been home for years. I didn't know what was going on. Becky wrote to me sometime later, by the time they'd figured out that was what it was it was too late."
"Mum, why are you telling me this now? You're scaring me."
Elsie looked up, down the lane, as she heard the two men laugh and a little girl giggle loudly and beep the horn on the car.
"She's so delighted with it," she observed. "She's been so excited and happy all day. So very loved." She breathed deeply. "Promise me that he'll always be a part of her life, that he'll always get to see her, at least once a week, spend time with her. He loves her so much."
"Mum…" Anna said, a tremble to her voice.
"Because I have breast cancer, and I have to have an operation to remove it, a lumpectomy they call it. And I'm sure I'll be fine. Once it's out and then they can see what has to happen next. Charles is adamant I'll be fine and you know how stubborn he is."
They had stopped walking; Anna faced her mother now, their warm breath mingling in the frosty afternoon air.
"But if I'm not, don't leave him alone, don't let him dwell on…" She closed her eyes. "He can be a stubborn old curmudgeon, you know that, and he'll close himself off and…"
"I won't." Anna promised, gripping her Mother's hands, "he's my Father, I won't let him."
Elsie nodded. "Thank you."
"But you will be fine," Anna insisted, "Charles is right. You will be fine. Because we all need you. You know that."
"I…"
"Mother. You're the heart of everything. You always have been. So you're not going anywhere."
The room seems unseasonably bright; the sunlight unwanted as it finds its way through the gaps in the blinds to the thick carpet, the pale bed, the woman in it, the man beside it.
They'd had them fitted specially, the blinds; Elsie had spent an age researching who would be best and then it had cost thousands to have the entire house done in the same style but it was what she had wanted and it had been right, she had been right. He thinks on that now as he stands beside their bedroom window overlooking the countryside they call their view – their garden. The field she'd purchased (the tiny rectangle of England they own) as a wedding gift is just coming into bloom and the sunflowers are finding their way. Last year nothing; she'd been unhappy about it, had convinced herself she'd bought poisoned earth and nothing would ever grow.
He'd toiled and turned and read and consulted and re-planted and now here they were and she couldn't see.
Perhaps he'd take a photograph later in the day when the light was right and show her then, if she could sit. Bring her sweet tea and shortbread; she'd taught him how to make it right, just how she liked it. He'd burnt the first three batches but she'd been calm and patient with him – her hands on his and they rubbed the mixture together in a glass bowl in their warm kitchen.
There were so many things he knew about her now, more than any human had ever known. Simple, inconsequential things, things that if featured under a microscope would barely even register but when brushed together formed the entirety of her being…and in turn, his – for what was he without her, really?
She gasped for breath and he turned quickly, by her side before his heart even beat again.
"Elsie?" He whispered, and she settled again with his hand on her shoulder, resting back against the plumped up pillows. "Elspeth…"
His chair, the place he'd lived and slept for the past three weeks, was by her side and he pulled it up close. There was a dent in the cushion that fit him perfectly now and he sat.
That beautiful face he'd stared at for half his life was pale, her lips somewhat rosy against the pallor. She appeared as Juliet in her tomb; death could have no affect upon her beauty.
Leaning forward he kissed her cheek, and she shifted slightly again, her fingers flexing, so he held her hand in his. The weight of her wedding ring pressed tight against his palm and he held on tighter, his throat dry, barely enough of a gap for air. Red-rimmed eyes and a wearied body.
"My darling," he whispered, afraid of speaking the words, he'd been afraid of them for weeks now, afraid of what they meant. "You rest," he finally let the syllables pass over his cracked lips. Bending, he kissed the back of her hand repeatedly; desperately trying to recall the last time he'd kissed her lips and she'd kissed him in return, when had he held her body naked against his, told her, shown her, of his eternal love.
"You rest now," he said again, "you can…"
Time for her to let go.
Time for him to stop being selfish.
The sunlight shifted over the cottage besides the sunflower field, and the shadows of grey clouds passed overhead; a heavy crack of thunder, the insistent pounding of rain.
Early January
It was the rain that awoken Charles, that and the dream, the same damned dream he'd had since she'd told him of this thing in her breast. He hadn't told her of it. Didn't want her to worry.
He listened to the rain for a long time, his head tipped back, resting against the papered wall behind their bed. One of his arms was dead and his bladder felt tight but he would not move. Not yet.
When the door creaked open he kept his head still but glanced across as Anna tiptoed in.
"Came to see how she is."
"Sleeping. Still. The stuff they gave her pretty much wiped her out, I think."
"Probably for the best."
"Yes."
Anna stopped by the side of the bed and watched them; her Mother was fast asleep, curled like a child in Charles' lap, the thick blanket wrapped around her, her head on her husband's chest and his arms around her. There was no way he was letting her go.
"Let me bring you something to eat, or drink, some tea? Mum's shortbread? There's a batch on the side I see."
Charles smiled, "Yes, she made it three days ago. Didn't want me to starve, she forgets I cooked for myself for years." He glanced down to her sleeping face, "Not the same though."
"You look pale," Anna observed, "Dad."
And he looked up then, eyes sharp with tears.
He hadn't slept right in days, hadn't eaten really neither, he worried so.
It had been wrenching to leave her, to stand-alone in the hospital corridor and watch her wheeled off for her operation on her own. He wanted to be there, would've been there. He'd made that promise to her years ago, that he'd never leave her; she'd never be alone. And she'd returned it, so that must mean she'd be okay, because what would he have without her?
He felt Anna's warm hand on his arm and when he looked at her he saw Elsie's eyes, just as he saw Elsie's smile every time Charlotte laughed at him.
"How's Lottie?"
"Wants to see Nanny," Anna shrugged, "wants to go to the park with Granddad."
"Maybe tomorrow, maybe when she's awake and brighter."
"There's no rush, I know you don't want to leave her." She squeezed his arm. "She'll be fine, Charles, you know. Something small like this isn't going to see off Elspeth Hughes, she's too strong for that, stronger than anyone I've known."
As Anna bent to kiss her Mother's face Charles thought of his dream – there was something off in it, something that didn't fit. The room was backwards, where Anna stood now was where the window had been, where he lay with Elsie curled up against him there'd been a wall. And the walls were white, as were the blinds, there'd been none of this fancy wallpaper she'd chosen to make a feature wall, none of the matching cushions adorning the bed and the two chairs in there that she'd chosen. It was all backwards. All wrong.
"I thought I'd make some dinner, nothing special, pasta, maybe. Something Charlotte might eat a bit of."
"She's been quiet."
"She knows Granny's sleeping."
"Bring her up? I'd like to see her."
"Sure, you come down for dinner with us? Then maybe have a shower, bit of a break. I can stay with Mum, or John will."
Charles nodded, unsure if he really would but he closed his eyes again until he heard distinct dragged footsteps upon the landing and a toddling body being helped along.
John held Charlotte's hand in his, leading her quietly to her Grandparents' bedroom. She'd been there before, had slept with Elsie one afternoon when she'd picked up a sickness bug and had refused to settle on her own. Only Granny would do in the absence of her Mother.
"Nandad," she said and John put a finger to his lips.
"Remember sweetie, not too loud." John said before leaving them to it.
"Nanny sleep," Charlotte stated, crawling across the bed.
"Hello angel," Charles said gently. "Missed you."
"Missed you," she repeated. When she reached where Elsie lay against Charles she bent close to her face, "Love Nanny." She said as she patted the blanket on her arm. "Poorly sick." She looked wide-eyed to Charles.
"She is poorly sick, but she'll be fine, just like when Lottie was poorly and sick and Granny took care of her."
"We sleep here," Charlotte said, and she tugged on the quilt until she found a gap and shoved her feet beneath, burrowing down beside them and closing her eyes.
Elsie moved slightly against him, murmuring and breathing deeply as she started to wake.
"It's alright sweetheart," he reassured her and he watched as she lifted her arm up and around her granddaughter.
The sight of the two of them nestled together calmed him.
Things would be okay, they had to be, because he finally had all of this and he wasn't about to lose it. Not now. He'd do whatever it took to make her well again, take care of her every second of every day until she was back on her feet and laughing in the kitchen as she danced with Charlotte.
It was a New Year and they'd be together and she'd be fine.
The rain was still falling and as Charles lay there in the silence of the room listening to that, and the breathing of his wife and granddaughter in his arms, he thought of how every drop of rain lands close together; forms ponds, rivers, seas. It floods and rages, changes lives, destroys old, brings new.
There was an ocean in him, she'd formed that, and the strength of it would keep them alive.
"It takes an ocean not to break… its quiet company"