Last non-school post! New year, plus some background on the other 3 boys, who inform me that they don't get enough of a story. 
New Year's Eve
Mr Braithwaite looked across the crowded hall to where his daughter was talking animatedly and laughing with a group of girls and boys her own age. He recognised a few of them - Kitty, who worked at the school, and Nora Ashcroft, daughter of one of the biggest farms in the area. Verity was there as well, and her parents were sitting a few tables away - her father, while technically on duty, had been convinced to join the rest in the village hall when the vicar pointed out that the entire village would be there, and therefore so, probably, would be any potential crimes. A sudden screech of static filled the hall, making most people wince and cover their ears.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The vicar cried from the stage. "I just can't get it to work!" One of the boys detached himself from the group Elizabeth was with and headed across the hall.
"I'll get it, Vicar." he called cheerfully. "You go and sit down." Murmuring his thanks, the vicar climbed down from the stage and after a few minutes, the unmistakeable sound of the BBC announcer could be heard throughout the hall.
"Drinks for everyone!" the vicar cried, and several of the younger people, Elizabeth among them, hurried to make sure everyone's glasses were full in time to toast the New Year.
***
Half a continent away, Roger Richardson carefully adjusted the dial on the big wireless and stood back.
"Now don't touch it again, Auntie Jo!" he ordered. Jo Maynard made a face at him but obediently seated herself on the other side of the room beside Anna and Nell Wilson.
"It just doesn't seem like the New Year until I've heard Big Ben." she explained. "Where are Steve and Adrienne? Go and find them, Mike, would you?" Charles jumped to his feet.
"I'll go." he offered. Mike shrugged and sat back down, and Charles hunted through the bottom part of the house. Eventually, he spotted a light under the door of his mother's study and with a quiet, muttered, 'Sorry, Steve' he knocked lightly on the door. There was a pause, then Stephen's voice asked,
"Chas?"
"Who else would have knocked?" Charles asked the door. "Mum's on the hunt for you, just a warning."
"Thanks." Stephen said, as the door opened and Adrienne, her cheeks pink and her eyes glowing, emerged. Charles put a hand out to stop Stephen as he attempted to follow her.
"Maybe better to go back seperately, looking like that?" he suggested. "Honestly, you'd think I was the only person in this family with any brains. Tell Mum we'll be there in a minute, Adrienne, would you?" As the door closed behind her, Stephen opened his mouth, but Charles held up a hand.
"I don't want to know." he said firmly.
"But..."
"I don't want to know, Steve!"
"I just..."
"Is the word 'Adrienne' going to feature in what you just...?"
"Yes... maybe."
"Then listen carefully, Steve - I do not want to know!"
***
Back in England in a town near the school, in a big, Victorian red brick house, an elderly lady and a young man were sitting in two large armchairs on either side of a roaring fire.
"You look more like your father every day." she observed. "It quite takes me back, sitting here with you like this. Your grandfather sitting in that chair, just after we were married. We saw in a few New Years in this house before the Great War, and then of course he didn't come back." She looked sad, remembering. "Your father, you know, was born in this house not long afterwards. And for so many years he sat there too, and we'd wait to hear the bells ring. Then when he met your mother, they always made a point of spending this night here. It was here you were born as well, in the room you have now. That wasn't intentional of course, but you always were impatient. I'm glad I didn't know on that day when we were so happy, that the accident would only be a few years later. And now here you are, almost a man and sitting in that chair. You look after yourself, my boy. I've mourned my husband, and buried my son and my daughter in law. My grandson will outlive me or I'll know the reason why!" He nodded his head.
"Yes Gran, I promise."
"Listen to me, getting all melancholy. That's what the end of the year does to people, I suppose. Ah, there we go - the beginning of a new year." She struggled to her feet and held out her hand to him.
"Happy New Year, Daniel." she said, giving him a hug.
"Happy New Year, Gran." he responded. "Do you need help up the stairs?"
"No, no, I'll be fine. Are you staying up with the radio just now?"
"Yes, for a while. I won't be much later though." She nodded.
"Good night then."
"Good night, Gran." Leaning heavily on her stick, Mrs Miller made her way to her bedroom, her grandson watching her anxiously until she was safely at the top of the stairs.
***
Much further north, Monty stood with his parents and sister, watching a fireworks display with the many guests who'd attended his mother's annual New Year Ball. In the house behind them, he could hear the musicians tuning up to provide more music after the display was over. As the rockets banged overhead, he felt his sister press close to him and slipped an arm around her. She was never a fan of loud noises, although she'd always loved fireworks. Monty had given up trying to understand that a long time ago.
His parents stood a short distance away. His father looked tired and old. Over the holidays, Monty had discovered that they'd had to sell off more land to building companies, and he suspected the family finances were in a bad way. His father's hair, once blazing red, had faded almost to white over the last few years, and there were grey streaks in his mothers dark head as well. He glanced down at Isobel, wrapped in one of her mother's fur coats which was now only slightly too long for her.
"OK?" he mouthed, deciding against trying to shout over the fireworks. She smiled and nodded, and gestured to him to lean closer.
"Will we be going back in soon, do you think?" she asked when he'd bent down so his ear was level with her mouth. He glanced at his watch, and tipped his wrist so she could see it too. It was almost 12:30. She nodded, smiled at him, and then both turned their attention back to the last few fireworks.
***
Jones watched his mother close the door behind their neighbours and then move over to close the window, opened 'to let the old year out and the new one in'. The house was immaculate, as it always was on New Year's Eve, every surface polished, every floor swept, and every stray object returned to it's proper place, often having been washed on the way.
"Come on then, bed time." she said cheerfully. "More people to see tomorrow. Someone rake out the fire and lets get upstairs." Jones' oldest brother obliged with the fire, and the rest of the family went upstairs. His sister and parents' rooms were on the first floor, although Anne's was little more than a cupboard. The four boys who still lived at home continued up another level, into what had once been the roof-space of the little cottage. Jones' father had converted this many year ago into a long bedroom for the boys, and Jones made his way to his own corner of it.
Unlike the others, who where here all year and had covered their walls with pictures, pages torn from magazines and anything else they could find, the walls around his bed were almost bare, containing only a few photos of school teams or friends. Shivering in the freezing winter air, all of the boys got into bed quickly and the lights were extinguished. Jones pulled the blankets up to his ears and curled himself into as small a space as possibly until he warmed up. He wondered idly how his friends had spent the night. He was willing to bet that Monty's sister hadn't burnt her hand trying to make toast without leaving any crumbs. He was equally sure that none of Minor's visitors were attempting to sleep on the setee, as his oldest brother was doing at the moment. He wondered if Miller was lying in bed hoping his toes weren't going to fall off as well. He wriggled round in his bed, trying to get comfortable, and grinned into the darkness at the thought. Cramped and cold though the cottage was, he was just as sure that none of them were having a holiday that was any better than his was.
|
Love Charles' way of responding to his impending responsibility!
]
, they will not both be going after Elizabeth. That would be too much for them.
I'm one of twelve and Mum and Dad always make the effort including the ones in another country.
neglectful parents
