After the Snow Read online

  But Sophia looked gloomy, as though she had already given up, and her tone was spiteful.

  ‘You can’t wear that, Es,’ agreed Sophia. ‘It looks silly. We’re going to church not a fancy-dress party.’

  Sophia, also blonde and blue-eyed, was dressed almost entirely in navy blue, the wall of colour only broken up by a white frilled collar.

  ‘Well you just look like an old maid,’ said Esme, rapidly blinking to stop tears from falling. She looked forlornly at her plate: half a grapefruit, a boiled egg and one piece of toast. Mrs Bee always made sure that breakfast on Christmas Day was disappointingly small so as not to ruin the family’s appetite for her Christmas feast.

  Esme glanced at her mother. She was concentrating on her grapefruit, eyes downcast as she methodically put one segment after another into her mouth. Her spoon rose timidly before each bite, the juice making her cough. Sip of tea. Wipe of lips. Back to the slow process of eating.

  ‘Diana, can you pass the butter?’ her father asked.

  Esme’s mother didn’t react and she knew her father was testing her to see if she would. Sophia looked at her sister and pursed her lips. In a protective reflex, Esme passed the pat of Anchor across the table.

  Mrs Bee always said that her mother had her ‘head in the clouds’ when she wasn’t listening. It was like she was dreaming with her eyes open, her mind far away in another land.

  ‘Thank you, Esme,’ her father said, smearing a thick layer of butter on his toast, smartly topped with a big dollop of marmalade.

  Esme watched as he took an enormous bite and looked over at his wife. She’d noticed him doing that a lot lately, even more so than usual. He often seemed worried about her but sometimes he seemed cross that she was so distant. He tried to make her happy by giving her the most beautiful things, even when it wasn’t a special occasion. Esme loved watching her mother open the old brown leather boxes with Phillips of Bond Street in gold writing embossed upon them. Mrs Bee always said that the best things came in small packages, but when bad days became bad weeks even these gifts didn’t pull Esme’s mother out of the grey mist in which she lost herself. Her father bought them to make her happy and when she wasn’t grateful Esme felt sorry for him and made up for her mother’s lack of interest by telling her what amazing taste her father had.

  ‘Mummy, you haven’t shown us your present from Daddy yet. What did he give you?’

  Her parents always gave their presents to each other before breakfast.

  Her mother blinked dramatically, as if she was shaking off a deep sleep. ‘Sorry, sweetheart?’

  ‘Your present – from Daddy. What did you get?’ Esme asked again, busily cutting her toast into soldiers.

  ‘Oh, my present. It’s a lovely brooch, darling.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  Her mother absently spooned up another grapefruit segment.

  ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Yes, darling.’

  ‘What’s the brooch like? Is it pretty?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course it is.’

  ‘May I see it?’

  Her mother looked at her as if she was noticing her for the first time.

  ‘Darling, why have you got that silly tinsel on your head?’

  Esme reached up and tugged at the halo in her hair. ‘Oh, nothing. I thought you’d like it.’

  ‘Esme, that’s enough talking,’ her father cut in. ‘Finish up your breakfast and run upstairs to collect your smart coat. We need to leave in a few minutes.’

  Sophia rolled her eyes. ‘Who cares if we’re a few minutes late, Daddy? It’s only a bloody church service. Just because you want to get there before the Earl and Contessa.’

  Her father never usually cared about being late. It was only when the Culcairn family were involved that he got grumpy about timekeeping. Esme thought it was strange because he didn’t seem to like the Earl, though her mother always came alive in his company. She often smiled at Lexi’s father, even if it wasn’t a good day.

  ‘Don’t swear about church, Sophia. If we are late, we won’t get our pew. Now get going, Esme. You will have to leave the rest of your breakfast.’

  Her mother’s eyes didn’t flicker. She was the one who was going to make them late. She hadn’t even got her lipstick on and she never went anywhere without her lipstick and powder, even on bad days.

  But at least she might liven up when she saw the Earl.

  Chapter Two

  The journey to Bonnyton Church was a precarious one at the best of times. Narrow, windy lanes bordered by thick thorn hedges made it impossible to see any cars coming in the opposite direction. Today, Esme’s father drove at the pace of a tortoise through the treacle-like snow. He sat rigid, hands clasping the steering wheel, cigarette hanging from his lips, his face getting redder and redder as he became more and more agitated.

  He doesn’t want to be late, thought Esme, because he doesn’t want anyone else sitting near the Culcairn family. But Esme knew they weren’t important enough to get the front pews on Christmas Day.

  Sophia nudged Esme and wiggled a gloved finger. Esme stifled a giggle. The simple gesture always managed to close the five years between them. A wiggling finger meant a wiggling willy. Esme wiggled hers in response. Sophia then flicked a series of V-signs at her father’s back. Esme copied her. She felt protected by her sister once again and knew her earlier meanness about the tinsel halo was only because of the bad atmosphere at the breakfast table.

  When they finally arrived at Bonnyton the bells had just stopped pealing, which meant they were late. The congregation would be preparing to stand for the arrival of Father Kinley and the choir. The parking space where the family normally left their car had been filled, but her father’s stress levels gave him permission to double-park, blocking the back entrance to the graveyard.

  ‘Not their bloody space, anyway,’ he muttered, his dead cigarette still attached to his mouth.

  The snow along the church path had been compacted into an icy carpet by earlier arrivals and the large oak door to the entrance was already shut. When her father lifted the latch the noise sounded like a gunshot in the hushed silence inside the church.

  As the family stood in the doorway, Esme breathed in the familiar smell of pine but quickly hid behind her sister as everyone turned, their disapproving faces dampening her relief of having arrived just in time. The church was completely full, every pew jammed with people, buttocks spilling over into the aisle. Henry and Lucia, the Earl and Contessa of Culcairn, sat at the front and only the Earl gave them a smile. Lexi waved at Esme furiously, despite her movements being restricted by a horrible tweed coat. She pointed to her matching beret, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue in disgust. There was nothing pretty about what she was wearing; it was just prim and frumpy and Esme knew how Lexi hated being made to dress like an ‘old lady’.

  Mrs Hornbuckle, the hunt secretary, had already sprung up from her chair and was tipping hymnbooks into her father’s arms. She led the family to a pew at the back, hidden in the shadows. Esme could see disappointment etched on her father’s face. Her mother seemed less concerned, her head still up in the snowy clouds.

  Standing on tiptoes on her hassock, Esme saw that Lord William and Lady Mary-Rose Findlay were sitting behind the Culcairns. Lord William was a very important man, with whom she had never had a proper conversation, but Lady Mary-Rose was one of the funniest women Esme had ever met. She swore all the time and told very naughty jokes. Esme thought she ought to have her own comedy show on TV. She looked back at Lexi, sat next to her older brother, Rollo, and sister, Bella. Esme loved Bella but didn’t know Rollo as well because he was the same age as Sophia so spent more time with her. Esme and Lexi thought they fancied each other. Sophia always blushed when Rollo’s name was mentioned and they always seemed to go missing at the same time when Esme’s family visited the castle. Next to them were their parents, the Earl and Contessa. Everybody else was rubbing shoulders, squashed up on the short benches, but the Contessa had lots of room around her. Even her husband sat a few inches away. If Esme were next to Lexi’s mother, she would avoid sitting too close to her as well, just in case touching her brought bad luck. She never opened umbrellas indoors either and always crossed herself if she saw a single magpie. The Contessa worshipped Rollo but never seemed very interested in her daughters, which made going to Culcairn Castle lots of fun for Esme as she and Lexi could do whatever they wanted – once they got past Nanny Patch and the nursery maid.

  Esme jumped as the Contessa suddenly turned around and fixed her with a stare that hit Esme like a slap, her cheeks smarting and flushing in response. The Contessa looked like an Italian movie star with her scarlet lips, high cheekbones and dark glossy hair pulled into a sleek chignon, but despite such beauty, her cold, coal-black eyes always made Esme feel unsettled.

  Everyone stood for the first carol, ‘Once in Royal David’s City’. A young boy had taken centre stage at the altar. His angelic voice rang through the church, alone and pure. The organ cranked air into its pipes, coming to life. Esme’s mother, who had been on her knees praying since they arrived, stood and swayed, although not in time to the music. She must be praying very hard, thought Esme, as her eyes were red and watery. Luckily Esme’s father knew the words to the carol by heart because he was staring at her mother and not the hymnbook. Esme looked past him to Sophia, who gave her a knowing look.

  Esme loved the Bonnyton choir. The Munroes never went to church in London; her father said that was for ‘commoners’ who had nothing better to do than pray. The only choir she had to compare it to was the one at her school in Kensington and it seemed to her that country choristers were much better than city ones – probably because the air was cleaner. She looked out for her favourite singer, a large woman who, even in her vestal robes, appeared magnificent. Esme loved watching as her mouth opened wide like a frog to let loose a surprisingly exquisite voice. She always made a great effort with her make-up, today wearing turquoise eye shadow, black eyeliner, vibrant pink lipstick and a bold swipe of blusher on each cheek. Esme’s mother rarely went to such lengths with her face, wearing only a soft pink lipstick and pearlescent powder. Mrs Bee maintained that Diana’s beauty came from within and she didn’t need anything smothered over her freckles to bring it out.

  Esme’s thoughts were interrupted at the sound of her father’s deep, booming voice, now drowning out those of the rest of the congregation. He was proud of his singing and loved to show it off, much to her and Sophia’s embarrassment. Tilting his head back, his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply in readiness for the next verse. On this Christmas morning, his left nostril held a large bogey in its depths. Esme took the handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him, poking a finger up her own nose to indicate the need for extraction. The carol ended and her father blew his nose, checking the handkerchief’s contents before returning the crumpled cotton to his pocket.

  ‘Let us pray,’ commanded Father Kinley.

  A grumbling sound spread through the church as the congregation pulled out their hassocks from under the pews and dropped to their knees. Esme’s mother was the first to kneel, her dark curls falling forward like a curtain. She was being terribly pious today, Esme thought, wondering whom she was praying so hard for. Or maybe she was having a little nap. Her mother found it so easy to sleep anywhere; watching TV, having lunch and even once when she was driving. Luckily, she had been on her own and hadn’t been going too fast when she hit the tree as she was coming back from the village shop. Lexi’s father had found her and brought her back home, her white face even paler than usual. She hadn’t driven for a long time now.

  The congregation rose as the organ sounded the first note to the next hymn, and her father’s singing began in earnest. Her mother was definitely asleep because she didn’t stand up and suddenly, as if struck by lightning, this made Esme very angry. She kicked her mother hard on the calf and, like a new-born foal, she scrambled confusedly to her feet before starting ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ once more.

  ‘Mummy,’ Esme breathed, ashamed of herself for hurting her mother. She pointed to her hymnbook. ‘That’s the wrong hymn. We are singing this one now.’

  Her mother looked at Esme with an empty expression, then slowly turned the pages to the right carol, picked up the chorus and sung in perfect pitch along with her fellow worshippers. She rocked back and forth to the music, like a swing in the breeze. Esme saw her father’s hand stretching past her sister, searching for her mother’s arm. Discretely, he tugged his wife past his daughter to position her next to him.

  ‘You’re on my foot. Get off!’ Sophia whispered, shoving her mother angrily.

  ‘For God’s sake, Diana,’ Esme’s father hissed. ‘Pull yourself together.’

  Esme hoped no one around them could see what was going on. Diana stopped singing and stared ahead, emptied of life once more.

  Father Kinley began his address and Esme tried to listen but found herself looking instead at the other mothers in the congregation, wondering if they were empty or full of life. She didn’t have any good friends at school because she didn’t invite any of them to her house for fear her mother might behave strangely. But she had been to Lucinda Burgess’s house and she wished that they could swap mothers. Lucinda’s mother wasn’t a beauty like hers but she made up for it with colourful clothes and big earrings. She fussed over her children; kissing and cuddling them, making them laugh.

  Snatches of tales about the poor and needy, the homeless, soldiers fighting in unpronounceable countries, the Prime Minister and Her Majesty the Queen, drifted past her. Then, as he always did when he neared the end of his sermon, Father Kinley began to list the local villagers who had gone on to the next life, saying how much the community would miss them. Once, Father Kinley had come to The Lodge. Her father had stood awkwardly at the front door while he had asked how Mrs Munroe was getting on. It was only when Mrs Bee asked him to come inside that her father remembered his manners and offered him a cup of tea. He hadn’t stayed long and Esme had been made to come into the drawing room and play him a piece on the piano. Her father hadn’t said much and her mother had been upstairs resting. Father Kinley had not come back to visit since then.

  ‘Pray for their families, dear friends,’ he was saying now, ‘at this time when family is everything and the loneliness that their dearly departed has left becomes all the more painful.’

  The blood of shame rose into Esme’s cheeks. Wanting another mother was like wanting your own dead. And she didn’t want that. Father Kinley was referring to the butcher’s daughter, Karen, whose mother had died of cancer. That was sad enough but then Karen had been sent away because the shock had broken her father’s heart and he had died too. Esme’s mother was like a yoyo but at least, she thought, she had a father who could take care of them. With Mrs Bee’s help, of course.

  She looked over to her father. He was holding on to her mother as if he was about to haul her off to jail. She tried hard not to be cross with her mother because between her father and Sophia she got quite enough crossness already; it was important that she and Mrs Bee topped her up with kindness.

  Outside the church, Esme tried to spot Lexi as the Culcairn family left through a side door – like they were a famous pop group leaving the stage, she thought, smiling. Sophia went off to find Rollo like a starstruck groupie.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ came a familiar voice.

  Esme looked up. It was Jimmy, a mound of freshly fallen snow collecting on his cap. Her mother brightened and smiled at him.

  ‘Jimmy! Happy Christmas. How are you?’ Diana said.

  ‘Well, I’d be a lot bleeding happier if it weren’t for this bloody snow. I had to come here by sleigh, didn’t I? And how are you, Mr Munroe? Broke, I’d imagine. How many diamonds did Diana get this year?’ He roared with laughter at his own joke. Esme’s mother smiled, too. She loved Jimmy because he made her laugh. Somehow he managed to be rude to everyone then get away with it. Esme wondered if it was because he didn’t care what people thought of him.

  ‘Jimmy!’ said Esme. ‘Guess what? Father Christmas gave Homer the smartest brand new dandy brush.’

  ‘Like we don’t have a thousand of those already,’ said Jimmy. ‘But at least yours won’t have most of its bristles missing.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘You looking forward to the Boxing Day meet? Homer’s going to buck like a randy whore when you get on his back – he’s practically jumping out of his skin in his stable.’

  Jimmy had made an effort with his appearance this morning, thought Esme. His thinning hair, which he cut himself with horse clippers, was smeared across his bald patch. The few strands left stuck to his scalp in lines like a cattle grid. His tweed jacket hung off his narrow shoulders and the top button of his shirt was missing, a mishap he had tried to disguise with a pony club tie that hung like a bow around his neck.

  ‘I still want to go to the meet, though, Jimmy,’ Esme said, eagerly. ‘We can do what we did last time it snowed and put butter on his hooves to make sure it slips right off. I asked Father Christmas for a sheepskin numnah. That would have stopped him bucking but I don’t think I was good enough last year.’

  ‘No you bloody wasn’t,’ he cackled. An explosion of spittle blew out of his mouth in a great wheeze, some of it landing on Esme’s cheek, which she quickly wiped away with her glove.

  ‘You’ll believe anything, Esme. Maybe pigs really can fly. If a rug stops that horrid pony bucking, I’ll give you ten pence. You should have seen him this morning when I put him out. His tail went up and he farted his way around the field like a rocket. When you get on him tomorrow it won’t be the doctor you’ll be wanting, it’ll be the bloody undertaker!’

  It was her father’s turn to guffaw at Jimmy’s outburst this time, which surprised Esme.