Chapter 23 #2
‘Honestly, I don’t mind sharing,’ Tim was saying. ‘I might snore, I’ll warn you.’
She listened, dawdling by her door. She heard John reply, ‘Bloody hell, it’s lovely in here, isn’t it?’
‘There’s a robe and towels, toothpaste, soap, everything…’
‘Aye, I might have a proper wash now. But I think I’ll just kip down on a sofa in that end bit. I’m not a good sleeper either and it’d be nice to have a bit of space and silence around me for once.’
‘Up to you, John. Feel free to use here as a base and if you change your mind, well, the bed’s not going anywhere.’
‘Thank you, Tim. I’ll take the quilt with us and the pillow, but I’ll be all right.’
‘I’ve got a spare shirt and pants but they might drown you.’
‘Don’t you worry. Frank and Vincent have given me a couple of their things.’
‘Take the robe and the towels if you’re going for a shower.’
‘Aye, I will. Thanks very much, Tim.’
Jane slipped into her room. She heard John padding past singing the ‘Hark! Hark’ carol, or at least as much of it as he could remember, filling in the rest of it with la-di-das.
He sounded content, but then she supposed he would be, seeing as fate had delivered him to the train rather than leave him out there in the snowy wilderness.
The happiest of chance, or something else?
And though she didn’t believe in that ‘something else’, she knew that even the greatest of intellectual minds had argued over its existence.
‘I could cut you down a twenty-foot Douglas fir, drag it back to your house and set it in a pot,’ said Frank, ‘but ask me to decorate it, and I’m scuppered.’
‘So that’s a no, you aren’t helping us do the tree.’ Elizabeth grinned dipping into the box and pulling out a beautiful little drummer boy, coincidentally the title of the tune that was now drifting out of the radio.
‘I’ll fill up the log pile, that can be my contribution to the afternoon’s duties.’
Elizabeth loved his voice, it was like gravel wrapped in silk. And his down-to-earth Kent accent. Vincent’s too; honest and unaffected, what you see is what you get.
‘I’ll help you do up the tree,’ said Grace.
Her accent was still present but less pronounced.
Some people’s were more easily ironed out over time, she knew.
And some increased in pomposity. Elspeth-Ann’s sister, for instance.
She had become a caricature of her former self with her ridiculous word distortions.
Vincent carefully draped the tinsel round the branches.
Despite living alone, he always went a bit mad on decorating his house at Christmas, a vestige from his childhood, he reckoned.
His parents always made it lovely; he and his mum would sit at the dining table and lick and stick paper chains and he went with his dad to pick up the tree and they always bought one that was way too big and stuck three foot out of the boot on the careful drive home.
He’d felt the loss of them at this time of year more than at any other and dressing the tree dipped him in a warm pool of memories.
If he could have crossed the membrane that separated this world from the next, he’d have leapt there, even for just long enough to give them both a hug and a kiss.
Vincent, the only one tall enough to reach, was put in charge of placing the baubles on the higher branches, while Elizabeth took the right side, Grace the left.
Elizabeth picked another ornament from the box. Every one was wrapped in tissue to protect them. Some were made of glass, some carved from wood and hand-painted. She marvelled at the glittery snowflake in her hand that would hang on the tree from a fine, golden ribbon.
‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they?’
She wanted to find a house that had a ceiling open to the upper floor so she could have the most enormous Christmas tree in the hallway.
She’d get one with a root ball so she could plant it in the garden afterwards and over the years a small forest of them would build up.
And when they had a Christmas party everyone would have to bring a bauble, rather than a bottle, to make a memory.
She and Gregory had been to view a few houses and couldn’t agree because she wanted an old place with beams in the suburbs and he wanted a penthouse in the city.
She was sticking her heels in but no doubt he’d get his way in the end though, because he seldom didn’t.
Grace reached into the box and unpeeled the tissue to find a wooden Santa carved in a saluting pose. What were the chances? she thought, casting it a look that told the taunting universe exactly what she thought of it, then she hung it at the back of the tree, out of sight.
‘After this I’ll help you in the kitchen,’ said Vincent to Frank.
‘Everything’s done, mate. But tomorrow will be a different story, it’ll be all hands on deck.’
‘Yes, we’ll have to get organised and allot duties,’ Elizabeth added, unable to keep the thrill out of her voice.
It would be fun, everyone pitching in, having Christmas dinner on board this lovely train.
She felt she knew and liked these people more than those she had planned to spend the day with.
‘Lovely in here, isn’t it?’ said Vincent, looking around but talking as much about the feeling of the place as the décor.
It made him think that when he got home he’d give his sitting room that overdue lick of paint.
Maybe he’d use the same colours, so they’d remind him of this unexpected Christmas in years to come.
Maybe even steal a couple of other design ideas.
He wasn’t so sure about the marble fireplace though, he preferred his large inglenook, but it was a stunning piece nevertheless.
‘Some craftsmanship gone into that, isn’t there?’ he said, indicating the carving. ‘Two heads are better than one, eh?’ And Vincent laughed at his own joke.
‘I reckon that’s Janus,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Hugh Janus?’
‘Vincent, behave,’ Elizabeth tutted at him with an accompanying smile. ‘Roman god of gates and doorways.’
‘I know. We learnt about him in school,’ said Vincent.
It was a long time ago but good teachers had a way of making you remember things.
‘One head facing towards the old year, one towards the new one. That’s why he’s associated with portals, because it’s all about transition, time, saying goodbye to the old year and hello to the next one. ’
‘New beginnings, he was all about the new beginnings was old Janus…’ said Frank.
His voice trailed off because he could feel Grace’s eyes on him and he knew that she was reading meaning into his words that he hadn’t put there.
The look on her face told him he was right.
Without preamble, she turned from them and strode towards the door, smashing the jolly air in the room by doing so, and Frank’s eyelids dropped as if they wanted to shut out the world.