The Lesley Glaister Collection Volume One: Limestone and Clay, Digging to Australia, and Honour Thy Father by Lesley Glaister

Author:Lesley Glaister
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2017-07-27T00:00:00+00:00

15

‘Only a week till Christmas,’ Bronwyn said, linking her arm through mine. ‘Only two more days of school. Aren’t you excited?’

‘Of course,’ I said, and I was trying to be excited. The house was crammed now, with fragile folding things, angels and stars and reindeer, even a Father Christmas, all papery and frail. Mama had spilt a packet of glitter and it had gone everywhere so that we trod it into the carpets and found it in our hair. Even my porridge had sparkled that morning. We didn’t have a tree yet. Our household tradition demanded that Bob dressed late on Christmas Eve and went out to buy a Christmas tree. We decorated it, all together, after tea, and then ate mince pies and even sang carols, sometimes, until it was my bedtime. And then there was the business with the Christmas stocking, and leaving a glass of sherry for Father Christmas and a carrot for the reindeer. Mama had decided that I could have a stocking this year, but it was to be the last. And in the morning, as always, Auntie May would be fetched after breakfast by Bob, who would look strangely formal in a collar and tie, and then there’d be the presents and the feasting and the crackers – and the games.

I was trying hard to be excited, but there was a dullness over it all for me, like a darkish film. Perhaps I had courted it at first, what with my anger with Mama and Bob, what with their lies. I had wanted to feel separate, to see them as foolish little people, to see them and all they did as trivial. But now I wanted to go back. I wanted to peel away the film and see everything in bright simple colours again. I wanted Father Christmas to be red and white and jolly and make-believe; not dismal and greenish and – quite possibly – real. I wanted to retreat from the fright I had given myself, to step off the thin ice onto solid ground that I could never, ever fall through.

‘You must come round over Christmas,’ Bronwyn said. ‘Mum insists. Not on the day, we have all my boring cousins over then. But after Christmas. You could even stay the night. Would you like that? Oooh, you’ve got glitter on your nose.’ Bronwyn licked her finger and pressed it on the end of my nose to remove the sparkle. ‘Would you be allowed to?’

‘I could always ask,’ I said.

On the penultimate evening of the school term, the carol service was held in the school hall. We had already had one service for the rest of the school, this one was for parents and the public. I was in the choir, and I sat at the front of the stage, conscious of the way my rough knees poked out from under my skirt. At the back of the hall, behind the rustling rows of the audience, was the tall Christmas tree. Candy-bright lights glistened amongst the darkness of its boughs.

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