Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Christmas Eve
Pauline had been deluding herself that Anthony would be home by Christmas.
She’d had several meetings with Jennifer Ripley and had taken her enthusiasm for Anthony’s innocence as an indicator that at any moment the police would realise they had the wrong man locked up in prison and would release him immediately without charge.
With that in mind, Pauline’s preparations for Christmas were the same as previous years.
She struggled getting the six-foot artificial tree down from the loft and spent hours decorating it on the fifteenth of December (same date as usual).
She’d made a Christmas cake and mince pies and even bought a family-size pudding, which she detested.
She bought presents for Anthony, wrapped them up and put them under the tree as normal, and then, on Christmas Eve, when she and Leo were enjoying a glass of sherry on the sofa, reality dawned.
She looked at the mantlepiece, usually brimming with cards, now barren, and sighed.
‘I’ve been so foolish,’ she said, breaking the silence.
Leo had the TV Times open on his lap and a mince pie halfway to his mouth. ‘Sorry?’
‘I should have known he wouldn’t be home for Christmas.’
Leo didn’t say anything.
‘You knew though, didn’t you? You knew he wouldn’t, but you didn’t try to stop me thinking it might be possible,’ she said, turning to him.
‘I thought it highly unlikely. But you looked so happy when you were decorating the tree and baking, happier than I’ve seen you in weeks. I didn’t want to ruin that for you.’
She took his hand and smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘The Little and Large Show has just started on BBC One, if you want to watch it?’ he said with a smile.
Pauline didn’t say anything in return, but kept the forced smile on her face.
Leo went over to the television in the corner of the room and switched it on.
Brightness and laughter filled the screen.
Leo sat back and was soon laughing at the mismatched comedians.
Pauline leaned back on the sofa and crossed her legs.
Her smile began to ache and die, and the tears came.
She saw the TV Times open on the coffee table.
She’d been through it and circled the programmes she knew Anthony would want to watch.
There was a film première on after the comedy sketch show – Flash Gordon.
Leo took Anthony to the pictures when it came out.
He’d loved it. She could almost picture him on the armchair in his pyjamas and dressing gown, his face glowing with festive excitement, enjoying the film and having an extra cheeky slice of Christmas cake.
The tears rolled down her face and she couldn’t get them to stop.
Less than a five-minute walk away from Pauline’s house, Geoffrey and Judith Patterson’s home was devoid of festive cheer. There was no tree in the corner of the room, no wreath on the front door, no decorations, and no cards on the shelves, despite hundreds being delivered, more than ever before.
Alice loved Christmas. It had been her favourite time of the year, even more than her own birthday.
She always said that, as much as she loved getting presents, she loved to give them more.
She’d started making her dad a balaclava to wear on the building sites in late September when Geoff first complained of the cold at work.
She’d finished it a couple of days before she was killed and had asked her mum to keep it somewhere her dad wouldn’t find it.
Judith was dreading giving it to him on Christmas morning but knew Alice would never forgive her if she didn’t.
The house should have been bursting with excitement.
They always had a real tree which the three of them lovingly decorated.
Judith smiled at the memory until she realised she was remembering it wrong.
She and Alice decorated the tree while Geoff sat on the sofa saying Alice was putting the ornaments in the wrong place.
He was teasing her, and she always gave as good as she got back.
Geoff and Alice were more than father and daughter.
They were great friends. That’s what was missing most from this house. Laughter.
Pop Quiz had been on TV earlier. Alice and Geoff would usually have watched that, given outrageously wrong answers to all the questions, laughed themselves silly on the sofa, then settled down with a mug of hot chocolate each. Judith often felt like a single parent with two children.
She looked around the living room. It was stale and oppressive.
She looked over at Geoff. He was staring at the blank television screen.
His face was hard and unreadable. In the early days after Alice’s death, they’d sat together holding hands, holding each other.
Lately, Judith had moved to the armchair.
The distance between them was growing. She wondered how much longer their marriage would last. They rarely spoke to each other and when they did there was little emotion behind the words.
‘Tea?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Good day?’
‘Not bad. You?’
‘Same.’
Judith told herself she loved Geoff with all her heart, and she did. But looking at him now, sitting cross-legged, unblinking, his face a map of darkness, she felt nothing.
Christmas Day
Anthony Winstanley loved Christmas. He loved everything about it, from the shops getting festive in mid-October to his mother baking a cake in early November.
She would pour brandy over the fruit cake once a week until a few days before Christmas when she rolled out the marzipan and the icing and made little edible models to sit on top.
He loved fighting with the branches of the fake tree and trying to get them symmetrical and losing a whole day to decorating it.
Every year he begged and pleaded with his mother to buy a real tree, but she refused on the grounds that the needles would fall and she’d be forever out with the Ewbank.
On Christmas Eve, Anthony, his mum, and Leo, would sit on the sofa and watch all the Christmas specials.
While his mum wasn’t looking, he’d steal a chocolate from the tree and put the screwed-up piece of foil in his dressing gown pocket to dispose of later.
He’d go to bed around ten o’clock, read for a little while, then turn out his light, pull the covers over his head, and pray for sleep to come quickly so it would be morning all the sooner.
He no longer believed in Father Christmas.
He was twenty-eight. He’d stopped believing years ago, but Christmas was still his favourite time.
He loved getting presents. Leo always bought him comic books and chocolate.
His mum always bought him clothes and a board game which they’d play together after the Queen’s speech.
He’d eat too much, laugh too much and the day would pass by in a blur, but it was the best day ever.
This year was a complete contrast. There was a real tree in the remand centre, but it was tiny in a pot on a table in the games room.
It had a few pathetic baubles and one long string of tinsel that had definitely seen better days.
His mum and Leo had been to visit him two days before and brought him a big bar of a chocolate and a few comic books.
His mum said there were presents waiting for him at home when he came out.
The chocolate had been stolen off him as soon as he left the visiting room.
His Christmas dinner wasn’t a patch on anything his mum made.
The turkey was dry. The stuffing was in balls.
The gravy was watered down, and the sprouts were hard.
He’d eaten it because he was hungry, but he hadn’t enjoyed it.
Afterwards, he joined the long queue for the telephones.
Several people had pushed in front of him, but after more than an hour of waiting, he managed to get to the phone and call his mum.
‘Merry Christmas, Mum,’ he tried to sound cheerful, but it wasn’t easy.
‘Oh, Merry Christmas, sweetheart,’ she said, genuinely pleased to hear his voice. ‘I thought you’d have called before now. Leo’s with me.’
‘Merry Christmas, Anthony!’ Leo called out.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he shouted back. ‘We’ve had so much to do here today, Mum. I lost track of time,’ he lied.
‘Have you had your dinner?’ Pauline asked.
‘Yes. It was nice, but not as nice as yours.’
‘Well, they’re catering for so many of you. You can’t expect it to be.’
‘What did you have?’ Anthony asked.
‘The usual. Did you see Flash Gordon on the television last night?’
‘Yes. It finished just before nine which is when we have to go to our rooms. I missed Val Doonican.’
‘You didn’t miss much. And they’re bound to repeat it,’ Pauline assuaged.
Anthony couldn’t think of anything else to say. The silence between them was heavy.
‘There’s Jim’ll Fix It and The Two Ronnies on tonight,’ Pauline said.
‘Yes. I’ll … well, it depends on what channel we’re watching.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Mum, will you come and see me again soon?’
‘Of course I will, sweetheart. We’re coming on the twenty-eighth. Everything’s all right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. It’s just…’ He lowered his voice. ‘I miss you.’
‘I miss you, too,’ she said, a catch in her throat.
‘I don’t like it here, Mum,’ Anthony said, just above a whisper.
There was a long silence from the other end.
‘Anthony, it’s Leo. Your mum’s just … well … I thought I’d say hello.’ He tried to sound cheerful. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I’m going to have to go though, now, Leo. Other people want to use the phone.’
‘Oh. OK. Well, Merry Christmas, Anthony.’
‘Bye.’
He hung up the receiver and remained where he was.
‘Move it, fat boy, some of us have got families to talk to.’
Anthony was pushed out of the way. He walked away, his head down, his feet dragging on the lino. Someone grabbed his chin and lifted his head up.
‘Ahh, poor baby. Are you missing Mummy?’ he asked when he saw the tears.
Anthony moved away. He’d learned the hard way not to answer back.
He shuffled into his room and threw himself down onto the bed. He hated it here and today seemed to be dragging on and on. He wanted the day to be over with. He wanted tomorrow to be over with. He just wanted to go home. Why wouldn’t they let him go back home?
The tears came once more and this time, they wouldn’t stop. He was audibly sobbing into his pillow. He was so loud he didn’t hear his cell door opening.