‘No you shouldn’t have,’ replied Nicholas. He glanced over to the kitchen door. He could hear the pudding bubbling gently on the top of the stove and smell the aroma of the cake baking below and the mince pies cooling on a rack. Yet despite it all, he no longer had the appetite to eat any of it as Sam had returned.
‘I feel that I should have. We were engaged to be married, but he died last year.’
‘Many men did.’ He gulped down a mouthful of mulled wine.
‘I miss him.’
Nicholas did too. Sam was a good man. A man who could be serious, yet had a sense of humour that was not unlike his own. He was a man he could trust and often did. Sam had placed his trust in him. Maybe that was how they had survived so long. And now he was gone and in the most senseless way. He had never allowed himself to think too deeply about it before. At first it was too raw, and then, as time moved on, it was not a place to revisit. There were too many horrors waiting to resurface and to think of his friend, risked exposing them.
‘I often wonder how he died, if he suffered and whether he thought about me at the end.’
The sadness in her face tore something deep inside him. He knew what it was like to lose someone in the war. He had lost too many men who he had come to consider his friends. He had learnt the hard way that it was better not to be on too friendlier terms with anyone as you never knew how long they would be around. He had tried not to remember too deeply as he was afraid of disturbing dark emotions that bubbled under the surface, just like the pudding in the next room. He could help her a little, though, if not himself.
‘Most soldiers didn’t know what had hit them,’ he lied. ‘Few suffered and most died instantly. You know the sort of thing, laughing about some silly thing in one moment, the next gone. I think it was harder for those at home.’ The relief on her face told him he had done the right thing. She would not benefit from learning the truth about war. It was too great a burden to lay on her shoulders. Over time it would weigh her down, as it did him now. He had tried his best to look out for Sam. At the end his attempts had been desperate and frantic in the midst of senseless chaos — but ultimately unsuccessful.
Rose gently swirled the wine in her cup. ‘We never spent a Christmas together.’
Nicholas took another gulp. Sam was still in her heart and coming between them. Dear Lord, how conflicted he felt. He had loved Sam like a brother, yet right now he resented him, almost hated him. But most of all he hated himself. He shouldn’t be here. He needed to leave. He glanced to the door, but then remembered their cooking. He downed the mulled wine in his tea cup, the potency hitting his mind in a wave. What a mess he was making of things. What sort of friend did it make him? Sam had asked him to carry out her Christmas wish, not to fall in love with Rose. He thought of the next verse of the poem.
Let me feel your love and friendship around me.
Your gift, tied with ribbon, brought with love to my door.
Wrap me in these festive new memories,
As the old are evoked by a vacant chair by the wall.
The words provided the lifeline he needed and a suggestion of what he must do next. Perhaps then everything would become clear, for the both of them, for he was growing desperate. He was falling in love and that would never do.
Chapter Seven
Friday, 12th December, 1919
Rose waited eagerly for Nicholas to arrive. She had closed the shop early, just as Nicholas had asked her to do. She must be mad. She never closed the shop early on a Friday. She had certainly thought Nicholas had lost his wits for suggesting it when he said goodbye yesterday. At first she had argued that she couldn’t afford it, but then he had promptly offered to pay for all the cakes she hoped to sell. When she refused to take the money, he had argued that he would give the equivalent amount to the local school and if she did not accept it, then they would lose out.
‘You’re putting me in an impossible position,’ she had argued.
‘I am simply buying the cakes you would normally sell.’
‘Cakes I have not yet made.’
‘The shop will be closed for just a few hours. Does it really matter?’
The army must pay re-enlisters well, thought Rose, as she searched for Nicholas’s familiar figure in the street outside her shop. She was keen to learn what his parents had thought of her Christmas baking. She had packed him off with most of it, as she knew her parents would find it too rich. They preferred plain cooking, which was just as well as the war had ensured that plain cooking was all that was available. However, they did like their bread and the limitations placed on it by the Ministry of Food department were not so easily tolerated. Rose had borne the brunt of their complaints during the war and had got to know their palate well, which was why she had given it all to Nicholas. Someone, other than her own parents, would appreciate it far more.
Rose felt a wave of mounting excitement when she saw Nicholas’s figure striding across the road. She felt sure that her heart skipped a beat.
‘Well?’ she asked, as he walked into the shop.
‘Well what?’ he teased.
‘Your parents! Did they like the cake?’
‘Mother thought it was splendid. Father is away and won’t be back until Christmas.’
‘What did she think of the mince pies? Not too dry? Perhaps I should have added some more brandy.’
‘Stop worrying. They were perfect.’
