The Keeper of Lost Things(46)

While Laura, Sunshine, and Stella cleared the table and then set about tackling the bomb site that used to be the kitchen, Freddy and Stan slumped back in their chairs like a pair of deflated soufflés.

“That was the best Christmas dinner I’ve had in years.” Stan rubbed his belly affectionately. “Only don’t tell the missus,” he added, winking at Freddy.

Carrot had ventured out from under the table and was sleeping contentedly at Freddy’s side. Freddy poured Stan a glass of whiskey.

“So is it as great as it sounds being a train driver? Every schoolboy’s dream?”

Stan swirled the amber-colored liquid in his glass and sniffed it approvingly.

“For the most part,” he replied. “Some days I feel like I’m the luckiest man alive. But I nearly packed it in before I really got started.”

He sipped his whiskey, reaching back for once to the memories he had struggled so hard to forget.

“I’d only been driving solo for a couple of weeks. It was my last run of the day; cold and dark outside, and I was looking forward to my dinner. I didn’t even see her until she hit the cab. After that, there wasn’t much left of her to see.”

He took another sip of his whiskey; bigger this time.

“It was in the local paper. She was ill, they said; bad nerves. Stood waiting in the cold. Waiting for my train. Terrible shame it was. She had a nipper; a girl. Dear little thing. They put her picture in the paper.”

Freddy shook his head and whistled through his teeth.

“Jesus, Stan, I’m sorry.”

Stan drained his glass and thumped it down on the table.

“It’s the whiskey,” he said. “It makes me maudlin. It was a long time ago. Thank God, Stella drummed some sense into me and persuaded me to carry on driving.” They sat in silence for a moment and then Stan added: “Not a word to Sunshine, though. I never told her.”

“Of course.”

Carrot’s ears flicked at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Sunshine came in carrying a tray, followed by Laura and Stella. She set the tray down on the table.

“Now it’s time for the lovely cup of tea and the even lovelier mince pies,” she said, pointing at the plate, piled high.

“And then we’re going to play Conveniences.”

Halfway through the first round, Sunshine remembered something that she had been meaning to tell her parents.

“Freddy’s crap in the sack.”

Freddy nearly choked on his whiskey, but Stella responded with admirable composure.

“What on earth makes you think that?”

“Felicity told me. She’s Freddy’s girlfriend.”

“Not anymore,” growled Freddy.

Stan was shaking with laughter and Freddy was clearly mortified, but Sunshine was undeterred.

“What does it mean—crap in the sack?”

“It means not very good at kissing.” It was the first thing that came into Laura’s head.

“Perhaps you should do more practice, then,” said Sunshine kindly, patting Freddy’s hand.

When Sunshine and the SS went home, the house fell silent. Laura was left alone with Carrot. And Freddy. But where was he? He disappeared while she had been seeing Sunshine and the SS out and waving them off. She felt like a giddy teenager, uncertain if she was excited or afraid. It was the wine, she told herself. Freddy came out of the garden room and took her by the hand.

“Come.”

The garden room was lit with dozens of candles and there was a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket, flanked by two glasses.

“Will you dance with me?” Freddy asked.

As he placed the needle on the record, Laura spoke silently to God for the second time in as many days.

Please, please, let it not be Al Bowlly.

In Freddy arms she wished that Ella Fitzgerald would improvise a few more verses for “Someone to Watch Over Me.” Freddy looked up and Laura followed his gaze to the bunch of mistletoe that he had attached to the chandelier above their heads.

“Practice makes perfect,” he whispered.

As they kissed, the photograph of Therese shattered silently into a starburst of splintered glass.





CHAPTER 30


Eunice


1989

The photographs on the sideboard were supposed to help Godfrey remember who people were, but they didn’t always work. As Bomber, Eunice, and Baby Jane came into the sunny sitting room, Godfrey reached for his wallet.

“I’ll have a tenner on My Bill in the two forty-five at Kempton Park.”

Grace patted him affectionately on the hand.

“Godfrey darling, it’s Bomber, your son.”

Godfrey peered at Bomber over the top of his spectacles and shook his head.

“Rubbish! Don’t you think that I’d know my own son? Can’t remember this chap’s name, but he’s definitely my bookie.”

Eunice could see the tears welling up in Bomber’s eyes as he remembered the countless times he had placed bets for his father under the strict instruction, “Don’t tell your mother.” She took Godfrey gently by the arm.

“It’s a beautiful place you have here, and it’s a lovely day. I wonder if you’d be kind enough to show me round the gardens?”

Godfrey smiled at her, delighted.