On Christmas morning, like millions of other women throughout the land, Frances descended to the kitchen alone. The sitting-room door, left open presumably for the sake ofventilation, showed huddled outlines.
Frances sat at the table, cigarette in hand, a cup of strong tea sending out rumours of hillsides where underpaid women picked leaves for that exotic place, the West. The house was silent but no, feet sounded, and Franklin appeared from below, beaming. He was wearing the new jacket, a thick jersey, and lifted his feet one after another to show new shoes, socks; he raised his jersey to show a tartan shirt, and lifted that to display a bright blue singlet. They embraced. She felt she was holding the embodiment of Christmas, for he was so happy he began a little jig, and clapped his hands, 'Frances, Frances, Mother Frances, you are our mother, you are a mother to me.'
Meanwhile Frances noted that mingled with his exuberance of happiness was unmistakable guilt: these clothes had been liberated.
She made him tea, offered him toast but he was saving space for the Christmas feast, and when he was seated, smiling still, at the end of the table opposite her, she decided that she had to dim this happiness, Christmas or no. ' Franklin, she said, I want you to know that we are not all thieves in this country. '
At once his face became solemn, then puckered with doubt, and he began darting glances around as if at possible accusers.
' Don't say anything, she said. ' There's no need. I'm not blaming you do you understand? I just want you to know that we don't all steal what we want. '
Ill take the clothes back, ' he said, all joy gone.
No, of course you won't. Do you want to go to prison? Just listen to what I've said, that's all. Don't think that everyone is like...But she didn't want to name the culprits, and fell back on the joke: 'Not everyone liberates goodies.'
He sat looking down, biting his lip. That joyous expedition into the riches of Oxford Street, the three of them, in such companionship, where warm clothes, bright clothes, things he needed so badly, arrived in Rose's hands, in Geoffrey's, to be stowed away in a big shopping bag he was not doing the liberating, only marvelling at their dexterity. It had been a trip into a magic land of possibilities, like going to the cinema and then, instead of watching marvels, becoming part of it. Just as yesterday Sylvia, Sophie and Lucy had become little girls, 'a giggle of girls', Colin had called them, so now Franklin became a little boy remembering how far he was from home, a stranger mocked by riches he could never have.
In came Sylvia who, having decided Evansky was not for her, wore red ribbons in her two golden plaits. She embraced Frances, embraced Franklin who was so grateful for what he was experiencing as forgiveness, that he smiled again, but sat shaking his head at himself, rueful, sending sorrowing glances at Frances; but because of Sylvia, the girl's grace, her kindness, soon things were back to normal well, almost.
The kitchen filled with youngsters already hung-over and needing more to drink, and by the time everyone sat around the great table and the vast bird sat before them ready to carve, the company had already slipped into that state of excess that means sleep is imminent. And in fact James nodded over his plate and had to be roused. Franklin, smiling again, looked down at his heaped plate, thought of his poor village, silently said grace, and ate. And ate. The girls, and even Sylvia, did well, and the noise was incredible, for 'the kids' had returned to being adolescents, though Andrew, 'the old man', remained his age, and so did Colin, though he tried hard to get into the spirit of it all. But Colin would always be on the outside looking in, or on, no matter how much he attempted to clown, to be one of them and he knew it.
The Christmas pudding arrived in its brandy flames into a room darkened for it, and by then it was four o' clock and Frances said that the room upstairs must be aired and clean for Julia's tea. Tea? Who could eat another mouthful? Groans as hands went out to gather in just another crumb or two of pudding, a lick of custard, a mince pie.
The girls went up to the sitting-room, and piled sleeping bags in a corner. They opened every window, because the room in fact stank. They carried down empty bottles that had spent the night under chairs or in corners, and suggested that perhaps Julia could be persuaded to have her party an hour later, let's say, at six? But that was out of the question.
And now James was sitting with his head in his hands, half asleep, and Geoffrey said that if he didn't have a nap he' d die. At this Rose and Franklin offered beds downstairs, and the company would have dispersed but there was a bang on the front door, and then the door into the kitchen opened, and there was Johnny, permitting himself a Christmas relaxation of his features, his arms full of bottles, accompanied by his new crony, a recently arrived in London working-class playwright from Hull, Derek Carey. Derek was as jovial as Father Christmas, and with good reason, for he was still intoxicated by the cornucopia that is London. Bliss had begun on his very first evening, two weeks ago. At an after-theatre party, he had watched from afar, in wonder, two gorgeous fair women, with posh accents, that at first he had thought were put on. He thought they were prostitutes. But no, they were upper-class escapes into the swampy beds and pungent groves of Swinging London. 'Oh, my God,' he stammered to one of them, 'if I could be in bed with you, if I could sleep with you Id be as near Paradise as I ever hope to get. ' He had stood sheepishly, awaiting chastisement, physical or verbal, but instead he heard, And so you shall, dear heart, and so you shall. ' Then the other gave him a tongue kiss of the kind he would have had to work hard for, for weeks, or months, back home. Things had gone on from there, ending with the three of them in bed, and with every new place he went he expected and found fresh delights. Tonight he was drunk: he had hardly been sober for the two weeks. Now he stood by the carcass of the turkey, where Johnny was already energetically picking, and joined in. Johnny's sons sat silent, not looking at their father.