Christmas in the Snow Page 10

  ‘Oh yeah, it’s the best time of day, this. Ferdy’s down. Lloyd’s out with clients.’ Isobel’s voice was relaxed and Allegra guessed she was on her ‘restorative’ glass of wine by now. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I just had a really odd phone call from a police officer in Switzerland.’

  ‘Eh? Switzerland?’

  ‘Mmm. Have you ever heard of a great-aunt called Valentina?’

  There was a short pause. Allegra thought she was thinking, but then heard her sister’s lips smacking together and realized she was taking a sip of wine. ‘No, never. Why?’

  ‘Apparently, her remains have been found in Zermatt.’

  ‘Eeew! What do you mean by “remains”?’

  ‘I’m not really sure. Bones? She disappeared in 1951 apparently. An avalanche.’

  ‘Grim.’

  ‘Yes.’ Allegra was quiet for a moment. ‘I’ve got to give them a DNA sample so that they can confirm the identity.’

  ‘Huh. Well, I’ve never heard of any great-aunt. I’m certain Mum said Granny was an only child, and that’s not the kind of thing you get wrong.’

  Allegra stared at her short, filed-square nails, glossy with a natural lacquer. ‘How was Mum when you saw her this week?’

  Isobel’s voice flattened. ‘Oh, well . . . so-so. We had a reasonably good spell yesterday. Enough to get the LPAs verified, at least.’

  Allegra rolled her eyes. Didn’t she know it! The paperwork had barely gone through and already she was embroiled in a bureaucratic fiasco.

  ‘Oh, hang on a minute, wait . . . You’re not thinking of asking Mum about any of this, are you?’ Isobel said in a panic. ‘Because that is the last thing she needs. Long-lost dead rellies turning up out of the woodwork.’

  ‘Snow.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘No. You’re right. There’s no point in bothering her with this. Not yet, anyway. We’ll see what the results reveal first. It’s bound to be a mistake. One typo and they start barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Isobel had always been easily placated by her sister’s calm authority.

  They lapsed into an easy lull.

  ‘Are you still in the office?’ Isobel asked, hearing the silence at Allegra’s end. The TV was on at Isobel’s, and Allegra was sure she could hear Ferds gurgling over the baby monitor.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You could come here for supper if you like. Lloyd’s out late tonight, and I’ve got enough stir-fry for two.’

  Allegra smiled, imagining the warm glow of Isobel’s kitchen, a bottle of red open on the table. She looked up at the almost fluorescent glare of the office lights – conducive to keeping everyone awake at their desks. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got some catching up to do. One project’s being a bit tricky.’

  ‘Sure.’ The resignation in Isobel’s voice suggested she hadn’t really expected any other answer.

  ‘Look, I’ll speak to you soon, OK?’

  ‘Yup.’

  Allegra hung up, spinning in her chair and standing, pressing her forehead to the cold of the glass. She was too high up to see the people below in the darkness, but she could feel the gravitational pull of them, a tide of office workers leaching away to their homes for a few hours’ respite before beginning the same cycle again tomorrow. Where would she go, right now, even if she could? To the house in her name that stood empty and dark on an Islington street, like an abandoned dog with not even a collar round his neck to show he belonged to anyone? To sit beside her mother, alone in a community full of strangers but kept company by a choir-singing, rugby-playing Welshman and the past in her head? Would she call the friends she never called? Search for the man she hadn’t yet met?

  She knew she would do nothing. This was the only life she knew – the only home, the only lover she had. She turned away from the window and returned to her desk, her back to the rest of the world.

  Chapter Nine

  Day Eleven: Metal Hoop

  Allegra knocked lightly on the orange door, not realizing she was holding her breath as she listened for the sound of footsteps on the other side. She looked at the plush eucalyptus wreath and its deep red holly berries twisted between the leaves, which she’d brought with her. Would it clash? she worried, holding up the wreath to get a sense of the colours together, just as the door was opened and Barry’s face was framed by the leaves so that he looked like a jolly Caesar.

  ‘Ho, ho,’ he chuckled, planting his hands on his hips and doing his best Santa impression.

  ‘I thought this might look cheery,’ she said, holding it out to him, aware of the single, somewhat straggly strand of blue tinsel Blu-tacked to the communal hall wall.

  ‘Amazing,’ Barry beamed, the word bouncing like a rubber ball in his accent, and standing back to let her pass. ‘We’re getting well into the festive spirit here. We made a start on the Christmas cards this morning,’ he said, stepping into the small kitchen and retrieving a tack and hammer from a drawer.

  A ‘but’ hung in the air.

  ‘But?’ she enquired, looking nervously down the short hall. There appeared to be no movement inside. Where was her mother? Sleeping?

  ‘Well, it’s not a great day today, so she had a nap and we’ve been listening to carols and having a sing-song ever since. We’ll try again tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh.’ Allegra looked at him with gratitude and bafflement. She couldn’t fathom the selflessness required to care for another human being who wasn’t your own flesh and blood. How many nights was his sleep disturbed by her mother trying to hide Monopoly money under the mattress? How often did she abuse him – verbally, if not physically? Allegra didn’t suppose her mother’s feeble swings registered on his rugby-honed physique. What impelled him to dedicate his own precious days to caring for someone who didn’t remember him half the time, who would refuse on a whim to eat his meals and felt no social compulsion to be ‘nice’?

  ‘Where is she now?’ Her voice was low, as though she was scared of being overheard.

  ‘In the lounge. You go through. I’ll just put this on the door and then pop next door to Judy’s.’

  ‘Judy?’

  ‘Yes, at number eighteen.’ He paused, wrinkling his nose. ‘We’d talked about afternoon tea and a game of cards, but I’ll put her off till tomorrow, all things considered an’ all.’

  ‘OK.’ Allegra watched as Barry shut the door gently behind him and a tapping began on the other side. Slowly, she stepped through the hall and into the living room. It wasn’t large, the ceilings not high, but it was warm and bright with tulip-printed wallpaper and sandy-coloured carpets and a beige chenille two-seater sofa with matching armchair. A small plastic Christmas tree had been set up on one of the side tables in the corner, with multicoloured fairy lights and a gold star at the top, a red paper tablecloth wrapped round the base. Allegra noticed a trio of cardboard angels arranged on the mantelpiece of the electric fireplace in among a couple of cards showing robins and Victorian carol-singing scenes.

  Her heart lifted at the sight of them, for they were proof that there were still other people in her mother’s life besides her, Iz and Barry.

  And of course, there were all the photographs taken of Barry with Julia – out on walks, beside the sea, picnicking in the park – the all-important visual standbys that reassured her she knew him, the proof that she could trust him, when the confusion crowded in.

  It took a moment for her eyes to find her mother. She appeared to occupy so little space these days and she was so still that it seemed easy to miss her sitting on the armchair, her gaze on the circular rug, but her mind clearly many years in the past.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  Her mother looked up at her, startled by her voice. ‘Who are you?’ Her tone was wary but calm.

  Allegra swallowed. Oh God. ‘I’m Allegra. Barry . . . Barry sent me through,’ she smiled, her eyes doing their usual, wonderful job of hiding her emotions. ‘May I sit down?’ She pointed to the sofa.

  After a moment or s
o, Julia shrugged. ‘What did you say your name was?’ she asked, visibly leaning away from her.

  ‘Allegra.’

  ‘I like that name. I’m Julia Fisher.’ She held out a trembling hand.

  Allegra stared at it for a moment – the hand that had smoothed her hair as she was tucked into bed at night, the hand that had held hers on the first day to school, the hand that had stroked her cheek with pride when she’d got her offer letter from Oxford – before taking it in her own, holding in check the impulse to squeeze it, to rub the skin with her thumb.

  The touch was fleeting, painful.

  ‘Have you heard it’s snowing in the Midlands?’ Julia asked, turning her head left and looking out across the landscaped gardens. It was dusk and the light had an ultraviolet quality to it, a final burst of pigmentation as night and day rushed at each other in a clash of colour prisms before darkness finally, inevitably, won out.

  ‘Is it? I haven’t caught up with the weather forecast lately.’

  ‘I had to send my girls to school in their thermals today. They put up such a fuss.’ Julia shook her head solemnly.

  ‘Really?’ Allegra asked politely, remembering how her sister had always taken them off in the loos the second they arrived. ‘I imagine Isobel didn’t want to wear double tights.’

  Julia clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, but a smile enlivened her eyes. ‘Oh, she’s a madam, that one, always wanting to look right. She’d rather be fashionable than warm.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Allegra nodded, remembering the morning battles well.

  Julia looked at her. ‘You’ve met my daughter?’

  Allegra blinked. What did she say? ‘Yes, both of them, actually.’

  ‘When?’

  Allegra hesitated, trying to find a way through the lie. ‘At their school. I’m a teacher there.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here?’ Julia’s face clouded. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Allegra replied quickly. ‘Everything’s fine. I . . . I just dropped by to say how well they’re doing. I thought you’d like to know.’

  Julia relaxed again, a proud smile smoothing her features. ‘Oh yes. They’re such bright girls. Allegra, she’s so dedicated. Strives so hard all the time. I think she thinks . . .’ Julia’s voice trailed off.

  ‘Mu—’ She caught herself. ‘Mrs Fisher?’

  Julia looked at her, eyes clouded with emotions she couldn’t understand, memories she couldn’t filter. ‘It wasn’t her fault. I keep telling her that, but she doesn’t believe me.’

  ‘She does. I’m sure she does,’ Allegra said, reaching forward and clasping her mother’s hand urgently. ‘And she’s fine. She just loves you very much. She wants to make you proud.’

  ‘I keep seeing her face that night. The church was lit by candles. She looked so beautiful. So full of hope. She thought she could . . . could stop it.’

  Allegra watched, angst-ridden as she saw her mother’s lips tremble, glassy tears dropping one after the other down her thread-veined cheeks. ‘Mrs Fisher, I came here today to tell you how happy Allegra is. She told me today at break-time. She’s thriving; she loves you so much. Everything she does is for you.’

  Julia turned her face towards her, her eyes wandering over Allegra’s face, and for a moment, just a moment, Allegra thought she saw recognition gather behind her eyes. But it was like the sun peeping out from the clouds on a windy day, gone before it had even registered.

  ‘Thank you, Miss . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

  It was bad today. She didn’t remember the introduction. ‘Call me Valentina.’ She didn’t know why she said it. She hadn’t known she was going to say it. Maybe she just wanted to get a knee-jerk response – her mother wasn’t ‘here’ today; she was locked in the past again. But there was no response. No ripple of enlightenment, no crack of understanding.

  ‘Valentina . . . That’s a pretty name.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Allegra swallowed back her disappointment.

  Somewhere in the hallway, she heard a door close and then footsteps and she knew Barry would come bounding round the corner like an Old English sheepdog, too big and messy for this place, which was all about low-maintenance ease and wipe-clean tidiness.

  Sure enough, the strains of ‘Bread of Heaven’ drifted into the flat, and a minute later, he was standing in front of them, his hazel eyes twinkling as he held out a saucer with some home-made sugar-dusted mince pies. ‘Judy thought we might like some of these,’ he said. ‘Shall I pop the kettle on and we can treat ourselves?’ The tiny shrug of his shoulders afterwards indicated he was more excited by the prospect than anyone.

  ‘Uh, I’m afraid I have to get back,’ Allegra said, her voice thin and flat.

  Barry took in her dampened demeanour immediately.

  ‘To your own family?’ Julia asked.

  Allegra nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Enjoy it. They grow up so quickly. I can hardly believe my girls are getting so big. They’ll be taller than me soon.’

  ‘Yes,’ Allegra nodded, trying to smile as she stood with her mother. She had been five inches taller than her by the time she was thirteen.

  ‘I’ll walk you to the door,’ Julia said, leading the way. ‘It was so good of you to come.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Allegra’s voice was subdued.

  Julia led her through the tiny vestibule and to the front door. The wreath on it looked so large and deep, like a plump velvet cushion, it diminished somehow the plain fire door it decorated, having been designed for the Farrow & Ball-painted panelled Victorian doors of the smarter London postcodes and obscuring slightly the brass number ‘16’. Allegra frowned, pushing the leaves down a little with her finger. Would it confuse her mother if she couldn’t see the numbers clearly? Should she have bought the smaller size?

  ‘Well, goodbye.’ Julia held out her hand again and Allegra took it, her hand limper now than her mother’s.

  ‘Goodbye.’ She saw Barry, behind her mother, gesticulating wildly with his hands.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he mouthed.

  Allegra walked briskly up the corridor, aware the orange door hadn’t clicked shut yet and wondering if her mother was watching her go, realizing . . .

  ‘Allegra! Isobel!’ Her mother’s voice.

  She turned with a start, but hope fled as suddenly as it had come as she saw her standing by the fire stairs and calling up into the void: ‘Girls! Supper’s on the table!’

  Allegra slapped a hand to her mouth, tears that were never permitted to swell spilling out in defiance of her will as she watched her mother waiting for ghosts. She turned quickly and pushed through the doors that led into the garden, huge sobs heaving her shoulders as she ran towards the car park. She fumbled in her pockets for the keys, desperate to hide in the blackness of the car park.

  ‘Allegra?’

  Barry’s voice – melodic though it was – was like a bucket of cold water upon her, shocking her into sense and her hands automatically wiped away the tears, drying her face in an instant. ‘Hi, B-Barry.’

  ‘Oh, poppet,’ he said, his head tipped to one side as he took in her distress.

  ‘Sh-sh-she didn’t remember me,’ she gasped as his arms wrapped around her, making the tears come properly again. Resistance was futile with his bear hugs and she let her head loll heavily against his chest, the smell of Lynx assailing her, the sound of his big heart a dependable plod beneath her ear.

  A few minutes passed before she recovered enough to pull away with a gulp and a smile, embarrassed that he was having to take care of her as well as her mum.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she hiccupped. ‘It’s a bad day for all the Fisher women clearly.’

  ‘You are perfectly entitled to have shitty days. It’s a shitty thing you’re going through.’

  She nodded, staring down at the ground and dabbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.

  He patted her shoulder. ‘I only wanted to check that po
liceman had got hold of you? In Switzerland?’

  She sniffed, looking back up at him. ‘You mean Sergeant Annen?’

  ‘Yes, that’s him. I know you’re busy, but he was a royal pain in the arse and I couldn’t have him pestering your mother like that. It was doing more harm than good, him going over the same point again and again about that woman they found.’

  ‘You mean he actually spoke to Mum about it?’ She remembered how the name Valentina had elicited no response whatsoever.

  ‘No. I never put him through to her, but he was very persistent and I was worried she might pick up in my absence.’ Barry flicked his fingers distractedly. ‘I know you’ve only just submitted the LPAs for registration and all, but—’

  ‘No, no. It’s fine, Barry. It’s definitely better I deal with it.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘I should get back or she’ll eat my mince pie and we’ll have a falling-out, she and I,’ he chuckled, turning to leave.

  ‘Of course.’

  He noticed the plastic carrier bag in her hand for the first time. ‘Is that something you wanted me to give her for you?’

  Allegra peered in at the little motley collection of knickknacks she had scooped from some of the opened drawers of the Advent calendar: the figurine of the Madonna and child, a sprig of dried, beribboned mistletoe, a carved wooden Angel Gabriel, a gold-tipped pine cone, feathered angel wings and a felted gingerbread man.

  She held the bag out towards him. ‘They’re just some Christmas decorations Iz and I found when clearing out the house. They’re pretty old, but I just thought Mum might like to have them around her – you know, to help make the new flat feel like home.’

  ‘That’s a cracking idea. I’ll put them in her bedroom so she can see them before going to sleep and when she wakes up,’ Barry smiled. ‘But are you sure you don’t want them?’

  She shook her head quickly. ‘No. I don’t do Christmas.’

  ‘What? Not even a Christmas tree?’

  She blinked at him as more tears threatened. ‘It’s always a really busy time for me, work-wise.’

  ‘Of course,’ he nodded, but she thought he looked sad. ‘Well, listen, I’d better get back or that mince pie will be lost to me forever, and I don’t want to have to arm-wrestle your ma again,’ he said with a wink, breaking into a run back across the gardens, thighs chafing, the carrier bag swinging wildly in his grip.