Emily's Christmas Wish Read online

  Emily’s Christmas Wish

  Pam Weaver

  Pan Books

  This book is dedicated to the memory of my mother, Dorothy Sarah Cox, who, without knowing it, taught me the art of story-telling. Special thanks also to my grandson Jacob Suillivan for letting me borrow Bun-bun.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 1

  Susan Marley closed the door of her small terraced house in Newlands Road and stepped onto the pavement. Tucking the letter she had just written to Helen Farrent down the side of the pram, she smiled at little Alfie Dawkins.

  ‘All right, Alfie. Off we go.’

  His face broke into a wide four-toothed smile and he waved his arms excitedly. Susan put on her woollen gloves and tucked his blanket around his body. With less than a month to go before Christmas, there was a frosty nip in the air. She knew she would be warm enough once she began her brisk walk, but Alfie would be sitting still all the way.

  She was on her way to Ruby Searle’s guest house at the sea end of Heene Road. Normally Susan would have caught the bus along the seafront, but with Alfie to look after, and only a big Silver Cross pram in which to transport him, that was out of the question.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted nine-year-old Jack Bailey coming towards them. Oh dear, she really couldn’t take him as well.

  ‘Sorry, Jack,’ she said, stopping the pram, ‘I’m afraid I’m going on a very long walk, so you can’t come today. Come round at teatime and I’ll see if I can find some cake.’

  Crestfallen, he went back inside his own front door, and Susan felt terrible.

  The boy spent a lot of time at her place. Since he’d virtually lost the strength in his left leg after catching polio, he was unable to keep up with the boys of his own age. They were into football and running. At best, Jack could only drag his weak leg, now encased in an iron calliper. He would be going back to school after Christmas, but in the meantime he was lonely and craved company.

  When Alfie’s mother, Betty Dawkins, had knocked on the door at seven-thirty, her normally calm face was creased with worry lines. ‘Could you look after my Alfie for a bit, Mrs Marley? I wouldn’t ask at such short notice, but it’s an emergency.’

  ‘Of course, dear,’ said Susan, taking the baby from her arms. ‘I hope it’s nothing serious.’

  Betty went on to explain that her husband, a normally law-abiding member of the community, had been arrested for being drunk and disorderly, and had to appear before the magistrates at ten.

  ‘I was worried when he didn’t come home last night,’ said Betty, unloading Alfie’s bag onto the kitchen table, ‘but this was the last thing I imagined.’

  ‘It certainly doesn’t sound like your Sam,’ Susan agreed.

  ‘I wouldn’t even have known he was locked up, if it hadn’t have been for Sergeant Williams,’ Betty went on. ‘He came round to tell me, after he’d finished his night-shift.’

  Susan nodded sagely. Sergeant Williams was a big man with an even bigger heart, and she had known him for years. A policeman all his life, he had earned the respect and admiration of everyone in Worthing, for his sense of fair play and kindness. Of course he maintained the law, as everyone expected, and he always did the right thing, but it was obvious that he really cared about people.

  ‘Apparently Sam was found passed out, in the barrel halfway up that building they’ve made to look like the bow of a ship.’

  ‘How did he get up there?’ Susan gasped. The barrel was a long way up and contained the top half of a mannequin, made to look like an old-fashioned sailor looking through a telescope. Surely Sam would have needed a ladder. ‘What on earth did he think he was doing?’

  ‘Search me,’ said Betty. ‘He was spotted, fast asleep with his arms around the sailor. It took several firemen to get him down.’

  Susan struggled to keep a straight face. It sounded really funny, but she could see that Betty was very upset. ‘I was planning to go out this morning,’ she said, ‘but if you don’t mind Alfie coming with me, I can take him.’

  ‘I’d be very grateful if you would, Mrs Marley,’ said Betty. ‘A court full of criminals is hardly the place for a baby. Where are you off to? Somewhere nice?’

  Susan explained that Ruby had invited her over for a cup of tea.

  ‘Give Ruby our love,’ said Betty. ‘And thanks, Mrs Marley. What would we all do without you?’

  What indeed? Susan Marley had lived in Newlands Road all her life. Born in the front bedroom, she’d slept in the back bedroom until, as a shy eighteen-year-old, she’d married Ted Marley back in 1912. Their marriage – and her happiness – had been short-lived. Widowed in 1915 when Ted was killed at Ypres, she had never married again, but had cared for her mother until she died. Since then Susan had lost count of the number of children she had looked after. She was only forty-three, but already some of the toddlers she’d cared for had grown up and had children of their own. Betty’s little Alfie was one of them, a dear little boy with fair curly hair, cornflower-blue eyes and a happy disposition.

  Susan was a great letter-writer too, and nothing gave her greater pleasure than receiving a letter, however short, from one of the young people she’d once cared for. In fact the letter down the side of the pram was a reply to a heartfelt plea from a girl she hadn’t seen in years, Helen Farrent. A year after Ted had gone, Susan was looking after four-year-old Helen. Heavens above, she must be twenty-three now. Twenty-three and a mother of a small child. Where did the years go?

  By the time Susan reached the postbox, Alfie was asleep.

  Emily was hiding. Whenever there was an argument, she knew it was best to keep well out of the way, so she’d climbed out of her bed and crawled underneath it. It was dark and dusty and the carpet smelled, but at least the bedspread hid her from view. She felt a bit self-conscious: after all, she was six now and her mother said she should stop doing it, but when the shouting started, she needed to feel safe. It had never sounded as bad as this before. She supposed that was because he was there too. His voice was so loud it was difficult to shut it out, and Mummy sounded really upset.

  ‘I’m finished with all that. Why can’t you understand?’

  Pushing her silky blonde hair out of her eyes, Emily reached up and pulled Bun-bun from under the sheets. Emily had the feeling that Bun-bun, a battered and much-loved toy rabbit, was scared too. She held him tight to stop him trembling.

  Last summer Emily had found a four-leafed clover. Patricia Revell said it meant she could have three wishes. It felt like kid’s stuff really, but she’d tried one wish. Emily had lost her plimsolls, so she’d wished that Mrs Ruddock wouldn’t tell her off for not bringing them to school. It hadn’t worked, but she still had two more wishes to go. She knew what she wanted to wish for, but she couldn’t wish that, could she? It was wicked. God would punish her for it.

  But things were always so much better when he wasn’t around. Mummy wasn’t scared all the time, and she herself didn’t have to hide under the bed. She and Mummy didn’t have that much, but it didn’t matter because Mummy was really good at making ordinary things special. Like the time they’d had a picnic down by the canal. Emily rolled over onto her back and stared up at the bedsprings. It wasn’t the same as when she’d rolled over on the grass and looked up, but she could still imagine the light fluffy clouds in a clear blue sky.

  Bump, bump, bump. Now Mrs Kaine was bumping her ceiling with the broom handle. She sometimes did that if they were too noisy.


  Emily heard a slap and Mummy cried out. She held her breath. Her heart pounded again as she heard the sound of falling.

  All at once, Emily didn’t care about making God angry. She would make that second wish, no matter what happened. She’d have to say it out loud or it wouldn’t count. That’s what Patricia Revell said, so she squeezed Bun-bun tight and took a deep breath. ‘I wish he would go away forever, and never, ever come back.’

  She opened her eyes and listened. Had he gone? Would her wish come true? She longed to call out to her mother, but she daren’t. ‘Please make him go away,’ she said to reinforce her wish, ‘I don’t want him here any more . . .’

  Emily forced herself to think about eggy sandwiches and Rich Tea biscuits and drinking orange squash with a straw and, if you were very, very good, a Lyons Maid ice-cream brick between two wafers.

  Then it happened. A terrible scream flooded her space under the bed and came to rest somewhere deep inside her own head, where it echoed round and round.

  After that . . . complete silence, until she heard the key turn and someone opened the front door. There were footsteps down the hall and then she heard the sound of violent scuffling and more bumps.

  Emily’s mouth went down and her chin wobbled. She mustn’t cry. Mummy said big girls don’t cry. She couldn’t hear a thing now, but that horrible scream was still with her. Had any of their neighbours heard it? Mrs Kaine had stopped banging on the ceiling. Perhaps she was already down at the police box on the corner of Hayes Street and Station Road. Emily hoped so with all of her heart. The silence grew. But it wasn’t empty, like when you lie in bed in the middle of the night, feeling warm and sleepy. This was different. It felt like something horrible was there. Something she couldn’t see. A sort of presence. Was she being silly? Was she letting her imagination run away with her? Perhaps she’d imagined the scream as well?

  It didn’t feel very safe, but she crept out from under the bed and stood in the middle of the room, listening. Everything was very quiet, so Emily walked to the door and listened again.

  ‘Mummy?’ Her heart thudded in her chest. There was no sound. Nothing at all. All that noise, and now this horrible silence. ‘Mummy?’

  She made her way cautiously down the hall, her fingers trailing along the peeling wallpaper, then all at once two men burst into the corridor right in front of her. Uncle Bill had Daddy’s head in an armlock, and Daddy’s face looked all red and funny. Emily gasped and turned away, but he grabbed her arm and held it in a vice-like grip. When she looked up at him, his eyes were dark and scary. There was blood on Daddy’s suit and his dark hair was all sweaty and stuck to his face. He was trembling and out of breath. He seemed to be choking. A line of frothy saliva hung from the corner of his mouth.

  Uncle Bill curled his lip in that old familiar way. ‘What did you see?’ he snarled.

  ‘Nothing,’ she spluttered, her legs giving way in panic.

  ‘Well, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut,’ he said, shaking her arm like a rag doll.

  When Emily nodded, he let go and pushed past her. Her father went with him, although his feet were hardly moving. Uncle Bill still had her father’s head under his arm and half-dragged him along. ‘Where are you taking my daddy?’

  ‘Say goodbye,’ Uncle Bill sneered. ‘Your father is going away for a long, long time.’ The front door opened and a blast of cold air swirled inside. ‘Remember . . .’ said Uncle Bill, turning back and pointing his finger at her. ‘Talk – and I’ll knock her into next week.’ Then the door slammed and she was alone in the corridor.

  Her next thought was for her mother. She turned towards the sitting room and pushed open the half-open door. The whole place filled with its high-pitched ‘oil me’ creak.

  They’d had a humdinger of a row. The floor was littered with broken ornaments, and the picture of her and Mummy at the zoo was all smashed up on the floor. One of the curtains was hanging by only a couple of curtain rings, and all the cushions lay in a heap on the floor. But where was Mummy?

  At first she couldn’t see anyone at all, but then she realized the crumpled heap lying across the sofa was her mother. ‘Mummy . . . Mummy, are you all right?’

  She ran over and tried to make her mother sit up properly, but she was a dead weight. Her head was all heavy and floppy and, as Emily touched her mother’s long silver-blonde hair, she got something red and sticky on her hands. She and her mother shared the same-coloured hair. Everyone said they could tell at once they were mother and daughter, but as Emily lifted a lock of it to expose her mother’s face, she could hardly recognize her. Her eyes were half-closed and there was an ugly weal across her mouth.

  ‘Mummy?’ Something inside her gave way as her sobs came out in big, uncontrollable gulps.

  Still her mother didn’t move. Now Emily was terrified. What if he came back again? She mustn’t be in this room. He’d be angry if he found her. She needed to get away. Right away – somewhere safe. Somewhere he would never think of looking for her. Should she go to Mrs Kaine? Should she run to the police box herself? No, she couldn’t leave Mummy, could she? In a minute Mummy would wake up and want a cup of tea and a fag, like she always did after she and Uncle Bill argued. Any minute now, everything would be back to normal.

  ‘Mummy, what shall I do?’

  Her mother didn’t speak, but Emily remembered what she had once told her. ‘Listen, Em. If anything ever happens to me, send for Susan Marley. Auntie Susan used to look after me when I was a little girl. She’ll look after you.’

  A wave of relief flooded over her now. Until Auntie Susan came to fetch her, she would hide alongside Mummy’s stash of Auntie Susan’s letters in her mother’s bedroom. Once out in the hallway, Emily stood still for a second or two, staring at the front door to see if he was coming back. Only when she was sure it was safe did she pluck up the courage to dart into her mother’s bedroom.

  Her mother’s perfume hung in the air, giving her a kind of reassurance. Resisting the urge to cry again, Emily wiped her nose on the heel of her hand and climbed inside the cavernous old wardrobe. She lifted the board at the back and took out the old tin. Opening it as quietly as she could, Emily took out the first letter. It was quite dark in the wardrobe, with the door almost shut. She couldn’t read it, but she knew it off by heart anyway. Wedging herself in behind the coats and shoes, she pulled her skirt over her knees, hugged her legs and waited for Auntie Susan, a woman she’d never even met, to come. As she waited, she pressed the letter to her chest – a letter written almost seven years ago, just before she was born.

  ‘Bring the pram around the back,’ said Ruby, when Susan arrived at the Sea View Guest House. ‘We can keep an eye on him while we have a cup of tea.’

  With Alfie close by the kitchen window, Susan Marley lowered herself gratefully onto the kitchen chair. ‘Ee, that walk felt like Elijah’s marathon,’ she murmured. ‘My legs are all of a tingle.’

  ‘It is quite a long way,’ Ruby chuckled. She reached for the teapot. ‘I think I would have caught the bus.’

  ‘I don’t have a pushchair,’ said Susan.

  ‘How come you’ve got Alfie with you, anyway?’ said Ruby, running her fingers through her short, dark hair. It was dead straight, but with her big eyes, people said she looked like the film star Louise Brooks. ‘I thought you weren’t looking after anybody today.’

  Susan explained about Betty’s husband, Sam, being arrested and they both had a giggle.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come all this way, Mrs Marley,’ Ruby scolded.

  ‘You might have been worried if I hadn’t turned up,’ said Susan. ‘I don’t like letting people down.’

  Ruby squeezed the older woman’s shoulder as she pushed by to get the milk from the scullery. She kept it in a bucket of cold water, although there was little risk of it going off in this weather.

  ‘How’s Jim?’ asked Susan, when Ruby came back into the warm kitchen.

  ‘So-so,’ said Ruby. ‘He sti
ll gets shooting pains in his legs and he can’t stand for long periods.’

  ‘Not much good for a photographer,’ Susan remarked.

  ‘I’m afraid we had to let the business go,’ said Ruby. ‘He’s sold all his equipment, all except the camera Mr Kendrick gave him when he went to stay with him in Wimborne.’

  ‘It’s a real tragedy,’ said Susan. ‘He was so talented.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Ruby, pulling the knitted cosy over the teapot. ‘There isn’t a minute in the day that I don’t wish Jim hadn’t been at the foot of those steps when everybody fell.’ She sighed. ‘Still, we can’t put the clock back, can we?’

  ‘So what will you do now?’

  ‘I shall run this as a guest house all year round,’ said Ruby. ‘Jim will help, when he can. When you’ve drunk your tea, I’ll show you around.’

  ‘Will you make a living?’ Susan asked.

  ‘I think so,’ said Ruby, pushing a cup of tea towards her old neighbour. ‘We’ve still got people staying here, and a full house at Christmas.’

  ‘Full house?’ said Susan faintly.

  ‘It’s put paid to a family Christmas this year,’ said Ruby, ‘but Mum and May are going to Hastings to spend Christmas with Rex’s brother, so it’s not as if I’ll be missing much.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Susan, expertly hiding her own disappointment, ‘and it will bring in a bit of money to tide you over for the winter months.’

  ‘That’s the plan,’ Ruby smiled. ‘Piece of cake?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Susan.

  They heard a small whimper and Susan stood up to look out of the window. ‘Alfie’s awake. He must have heard you mention cake.’

  ‘Police. Open up!’

  Emily jumped. Someone was yelling through the letter box. The empty coat hangers rattled against the brass rail, but it took Emily some while to realize it was only because she was shaking them.

  ‘Come on – or we’ll take the door down!’