Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 37 Olive

Chapter 37

Olive

I thought about Peter’s kiss as I prepared for my trip to Sandringham. It had felt so lovely to be wanted by someone, to spend time with someone where I could just be myself, even if that someone was possibly the least reliable man on earth.

“Do you really think he’s changed?” Rosie asked when I told her about going to see him at his mother’s house. “I mean, really ? Are you sure he isn’t putting on an act? You know how he is.”

“I know how he was. I really don’t think he’s pretending, Rosie.”

“Well, I suppose a leopard can change its spots after all. We were only kids back then. Nine years is a long time to grow up.”

We walked along the embankment, a violet winter sky above us.

“And he was lovely when we met in the park again yesterday.”

Rosie stopped in her tracks. “You’ve already seen him again?”

“He telephoned the next day, said he couldn’t stop thinking about me. I didn’t have time to tell you. I wasn’t even sure if I would go, or if he would show up, but I did, and it was lovely. We got on really well. He took me for tea.”

“Ahh. I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re falling for him again, aren’t you?”

I tucked my arm through hers. “I’m not sure. Possibly? Yes. I really think things could be different this time. I even told him about Lucy. He hardly blinked.”

“And what about Jack?”

I’d thought about Jack so much, gone over all the moments we’d shared in the past, and the brief encounters we’d had more recently, but what was there really between us? One night together nine years ago and a few looks exchanged last Christmas that I might have misread? Peter was full steam ahead, and there was something exciting about that.

“I haven’t even seen Jack since last Christmas. He might be with someone for all I know. Peter is here now. He’s a safe bet.”

Rosie huffed out a long breath. “A safe bet! How absolutely intoxicating. How could you possibly resist?”

I nudged my elbow into her ribs. “You know what I mean. And I’d forgotten what a good kisser Peter is!”

“When are you going to see him again?”

“After Christmas. We’ve arranged to meet when I get back from Norfolk.”

We walked on a little further until we reached the underground station, where we parted.

Rosie kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll see you when you’re back from Sandringham then. I just want you to be happy, Olive. If you see Jack at Sandringham and get the chance, maybe you should talk to him? Tell him the truth?”

I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, Rosie. I’ll have to see how things are. I might not see him at all.”

“Well, you know what I think. Better to tell him now than regret it later.”

Part of me knew she was right but a bigger part of me was also terrified of his reaction. I was stalling for time.

By the end of the week, I had a head cold that left my nose as red as Rudolph’s.

My mother had been especially kind in recent weeks and had offered to take me to Lyons’ Corner House for a cup of tea and a cherry bun.

“You look nice, love,” she said, as I poured the tea.

“I look dreadful.” I took a large bite of my cherry bun. I’d forgotten how delicious they were.

“Something keeping you awake at night?” she asked. “You do look a little tired now that you mention it.”

“I’m just busy at work.”

At this, my mother burst into tears.

“Mum, whatever has happened?” I pulled a handkerchief from my handbag and passed it to her.

Eventually she composed herself. “I’m sorry, love. It’s Christmas. It always makes me sentimental.”

“I thought Christmas made you happy.”

“It does. Christmas was when I first met your father. He was so romantic back then. We had our first kiss in the snow in Regent’s Park.” She hesitated, her eyes still swimming with tears. “He hardly seems to notice I’m there half the time these days. All the romance has gone. Marriage has become an endless cycle of washing your father’s underwear and finding his bloody slippers. Bangers and mash for tea in front of that bloody television he can’t look away from.” She wiped her eyes. “I want to feel special again. Like I matter.”

“You do matter, Mum.” I covered her hand with mine. “Of course you matter.”

“I feel invisible most of the time.”

We talked for another hour, by which time we’d worked our way through two more pots of tea and two cherry buns each, and I’d hatched a plan to bring a bit of romance back into my parents’ lives. I remembered the way Jack had talked so passionately about food when we’d spent time together on SS Gothic , and how he firmly believed that a good meal in the right setting could bring people together.

“You and Dad should go somewhere nice—splash out on a fancy dinner.”

“I can’t even remember the last time we went out to eat. Your father isn’t one for a fuss.”

“You leave Dad to me. When we’re finished here, we’ll go and find you something nice to wear.”

“Now? Today?”

I laughed. “Yes, Mum. Now! Today!”

She smiled. “I suppose I could have a look.”

After sending Mum home with two new dresses, I booked a table for two at Maison Jerome for that evening. I continued with my Christmas shopping then, picking up some books and a jigsaw puzzle for Lucy, a new shirt and tie for Dad to wear, and a new lipstick from Woolworths for Mum. I saw a lovely notebook in Hatchards that I almost bought for Jack to keep his recipes in, but I put it back. I didn’t want to come across as too keen. We were simply friends. That was all. I picked up a woollen scarf instead and made my way home.

Despite complaining that he would miss his favorite television program, and that he wasn’t particularly hungry anyway, Dad washed and shaved, while I ironed his “funeral” trousers, as he called them. He forced himself into the new shirt I’d picked out for him, even though it was a little on the snug side. His smart new tie looked lovely. He even splashed on the aftershave Mum had bought him two Christmases ago and which had been gathering dust ever since. It smelled of leather and pine and made my eyes water.

I smiled as I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You look lovely, Dad. I don’t know how Mum will ever resist you!”

He fussed with his tie and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Feel like a bloody idiot, dressed up to the nines.”

Mum looked especially lovely. “Not bad, eh?” she said as she gave us a twirl.

My dad couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Not bad at all, Barbara!”

He put his arm around my shoulders. “Thanks, love.”

“Right, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. The table is booked for seven, so don’t be late. And don’t stay out too late either—remember you’ll have Lucy for the next few days.”

I hurried Lucy into her coat. I’d promised to take her to see the Christmas lights on Regent Street.

Lucy and I waited at the end of the road until my parents left the house, arm in arm as they walked to the bus stop. A promising start.

Lucy grabbed my hand. “I wish you had someone to take you out somewhere nice, Mummy.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, love. I like it best when we have our family tea together.” I paused for a moment. “I have a friend whose job it is to cook tea for the queen. Did you know that?”

She stopped and stared at me. “Really? She cooks tea for the queen?”

I laughed. “Yes, really. He does. My friend is a chef in the kitchens at Buckingham Palace. And at Sandringham. He works there every Christmas.” I let out a long guilty breath, glad to have finally plucked up the courage to even mention Jack’s name to her, but conscious of what I wasn’t telling her about him.

“He must be very rich and posh.”

I laughed again as I thought about Jack. “Well, not quite.”

“I wish I could go to Sandringham with you, Mummy.”

“I know, darling. But when I go there, I’m very busy and have to work, so you’d be ever so bored. You’ll have more fun here until I get back. Anyway, come on. Let’s have a race. Last one to the pond is a sack of coal!”

I set off at a sprint but let Lucy catch me, pretending to be winded and have a stitch and staggering the last few yards. I gasped dramatically as she overtook me. She was almost able to beat me now without my pretending to struggle. My little girl was growing up, and I was so proud of her. I was proud of myself, too. It hadn’t been easy to raise her on my own, but we’d muddled through, and would keep muddling through. Together.

We watched the ducks as they slipped on the frozen pond, laughing until tears streamed down our faces. This was where I was happiest. With my girl, just the two of us. Maybe we didn’t need anyone else at all.

That night, when I went to tuck her up in bed, I found her Christmas list on her bedside table. What she’d written broke my heart.

Dear Father Christmas,

I would like

1) a typewriter for my stories

2) a dog of my own

3) a daddy, so that Mummy doesn’t have to be sad

My darling girl. So sensitive and caring. I tried to hide my emotions from her, but clearly I hadn’t done a very good job of it recently. If only it was as simple as Father Christmas delivering a daddy down the chimney, but it was going to be a little more complicated than that.

Tomorrow, I would travel to Sandringham to spend another Christmas in the company of the queen and, unfortunately, in the company of Charlie Bullen. But it was neither of them my thoughts turned to as I laid my head on my pillow. There was only one name that kept running through my head, one face I saw when I closed my eyes.

Jack.

It was always—had only ever been—Jack.