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‘I walked by this way a little while ago—my Billy still has to have his morning constitutional whether it’s Christmas Day or not—and I saw you then. It’s a mite cold to be sitting for long, isn’t it, dear?’ The bright brown eyes were penetrating, but kind. ‘You all right? You look all done in.’
Melody tried to pull herself together. Now she had come back to the real world she realised she was absolutely frozen to the core. Her reply of, ‘I’m fine, thank you’, was somewhat spoilt by the convulsive shiver which accompanied it.
It seemed to have decided her Good Samaritan. The little woman clucked her tongue before saying, ‘I always have a cup of tea once I get in, and my place is just across there, dear. Why don’t you come in and warm up before you get yourself home?’
‘No—no, thank you.’ Melody forced a smile as she stood up, only to find she was as stiff as a board. ‘You’re very kind but I’m perfectly all right. I—I was just sitting awhile.’
‘You don’t look all right, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ Obviously plain speaking was the order of the day. ‘You’re the colour of the snow. Look, my name’s Mabel, and I’m not doing anything until my son comes to collect me and Billy later this morning for Christmas lunch at his place. Lovely house he’s got—all modern and open-plan, I think you call it. Wouldn’t do for me—too much like living in a barn—but it suits him and his wife and the kiddies and that’s all that matters. Anyway, I’ve got an hour or two to kill, and I could do with the company, to tell you the truth. I don’t usually mind being on my own—my Billy’s good company, bless him—but Christmas Day is different, isn’t it? I miss my Arthur then. He died a couple of years ago and I still can’t get used to it. Fifty years we were married, and childhood sweethearts. That still happened in my day. Not like now.’ This was followed by a loud sniff which eloquently depicted Mabel’s opinion of present-day romance.
Melody moistened her lips, ready to refuse the invitation when she caught the fleeting expression in Mabel’s eyes. The loneliness connected with something deep inside her, and instead she found herself saying, ‘If it wouldn’t be any bother I’d love a cup of tea. I didn’t realise how cold I’d got.’
‘That’s right, dear.’ Mabel was aglow, standing up and yanking Billy—who had settled himself down for a nap—to his feet. ‘Nothing like a cup of tea for sorting things out—that’s what I always say. The cup that cheers—that’s what my Arthur said.’
Mabel’s house turned out to be a well-kept terraced property with an air of faded grandeur and photographs of family adorning every surface in the neat little kitchen-diner Melody was shown into. It was as warm as toast, an Aga having pride of place in the old-fashioned fireplace, and two-cushioned rocking chairs complemented the scrubbed kitchen table and four chairs tucked in one corner. There was a serenity to the house, a quietness that spoke of tranquillity rather than emptiness, which was immensely comforting. Melody had a strange sense of coming home.
‘Sit yourself down, lovey.’ Mabel pointed to one of the rocking chairs as she spoke. Billy immediately curled up in his basket in front of the range and shut his eyes, as though to say, duties performed; do not disturb.
‘Thank you.’ Melody sat, somewhat gingerly, and wondered how on earth she had ended up in a total stranger’s house on Christmas Day morning, when Zeke was fast asleep in their suite at the hotel. At least she hoped he was asleep. Yes, he would be, she reassured herself quickly. And even if he wasn’t it was too late to worry about it. She was here now.
Mabel bustled about making the tea, and when the little woman warmed the teapot and then added two teaspoonfuls of tea from a caddy before pouring hot water into the pot Melody wasn’t surprised. Teabags, somehow, weren’t Mabel’s style.
‘Here you are, dear.’ Mabel passed her a cup of tea with a thick slice of homemade shortbread in the saucer. ‘Now, why, if you don’t mind me asking, was a bonny-looking girl like you sitting all by herself on Christmas morning, looking as though she’d lost a pound and found a penny?’
Melody had to smile. No one could accuse Mabel of beating about the bush. She took a sip of the scalding hot tea and then set the cup in its bone china saucer. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said simply. ‘Or which way to turn.’
Mabel deposited her dumpy little body in the other rocking chair and smiled placidly. ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved—that’s what I always say. So why don’t you tell me all about it?’ She took a bite of her own shortbread and indicated for Melody to try hers. ‘Get yourself on the other side of that, lovey, and tell me what’s wrong.’
‘It’s a long story,’ Melody said hesitantly.
‘Then all the more reason to get on with it straight away.’
The logic was irrefutable.
An hour and several cups of tea later, Melody was wondering how on earth she could have given her life story to a virtual stranger. Not only that, but she was feeling more relaxed and at home in Mabel’s house than she’d felt in years.
Mabel hadn’t interrupted her as she’d told her about her childhood, her teenage years, meeting Zeke and all the trauma following the accident. She had simply listened. Billy had twitched in his basket as he’d chased imaginary rabbits, making little growling noises in his sleep now and again as his paws had moved convulsively, but otherwise the kitchen had been quiet and still with no distractions.
‘So…’ They had sat in silence for a good ten minutes or more, and Melody was half asleep when Mabel broke the peace. ‘What are you going to say when you go back to the hotel?’
Melody stared at her new friend. ‘I don’t know. What should I do?’ Even to herself her voice sounded beseeching.
‘I can’t tell you, dear, but then you know that. This has to be your decision and yours alone. Only you know how you feel.’
Disappointed, Melody straightened in her chair. ‘I can’t stay with Zeke,’ she said tonelessly, pain tearing through her.
‘Can’t or won’t?’ Mabel asked calmly. ‘There’s a difference. My Arthur and me lost five babies before we had our son. After the fifth, I said I couldn’t go through it again. Arthur didn’t argue with me, bless him, not even when I decided I couldn’t stay here, in this house, with all the memories it held. I wanted to make a fresh start somewhere far away, I told him. Australia, perhaps. I had a brother who’d emigrated and he was doing all right. Or New Zealand, maybe. Anywhere but here, with the little room upstairs decorated as a nursery and the empty cot that had been waiting for a baby for umpteen years.’
Melody was wide awake now, hanging on to Mabel’s every word.
‘And so I made my plans. Arthur was an engineer, very well qualified and the top of the tree in his own particular field, so we could have gone anywhere and he’d have been sure of work. My brother sent me information on some lovely houses close to where he lived, and a colleague of Arthur’s had always said if we ever thought of moving he wanted fi
rst option on buying our house, so we didn’t even have to worry about selling it. We said our price and he didn’t quibble. Arthur gave notice at work, and everything was set for emigrating at the end of May. I remember May twenty-eighth was the day we were going to set sail. Funny how some things stay in your mind, isn’t it?’
Melody nodded, transfixed by the drama of the long-ago happenings of the little woman in front of her.
‘It was a lovely spring that year—soft and warm and days of endless sunshine all through April. Girls were wearing summer dresses and everyone was happy. Everyone but me. All our plans had gone smoothly, and Arthur had a good job lined up in Australia, but I knew it wasn’t right. I wanted to go, I needed to go, but it didn’t feel right deep inside—here.’ Mabel touched her heart. ‘You know? I was running way. I knew it but I wouldn’t admit it. And I had good reason for wanting a fresh start—heaven knows I did. I felt I couldn’t bear the future if I stayed. The same cycle of hope and then crushing disappointment when my body let me down again.’
Mabel leaned forward, taking one of Melody’s hands between her own. ‘I felt such a failure, you see. Every time it happened I felt I’d let Arthur down and it was affecting our marriage. I wasn’t the girl he’d married, we both knew that, and although he said he loved me just the same, and that as long as he had me it didn’t matter if the children didn’t come along, I didn’t see it that way. I’d even thought about leaving him. He had three brothers and they all had big families, and Arthur was so good with the children—their favourite uncle. I thought if I left him he could have children with someone else.’
