The Christmas Mouse Read Free Page A

of green angelica tucked into its top. The old lady had made that for those who, like herself, could not tackle Christmas cake until three or four hours after Christmas pudding. It had turned out beautifully light, Mrs Berry remembered.
    She closed her eyes contentedly, and before long, drifted into a light sleep.
    Mrs Berry awoke as the children burst into the room. A cold breeze set the Christmas tree ornaments tinkling and rustled the paper chain, which swung above the door.
    The little girls’ faces were pink and wet, their bangs stuck to their foreheads and glistened with dampness. Drops fell from the scarlet mackintoshes and their woolly gloves were soaked. But nothing could damp their spirits on this wonderful day, and Mrs Berry forbore to scold them for the mess they were making on the rug.
    Mary, struggling with the shopping, called from the kitchen.
    ‘Come out here, you two, and get off those wet things! What a day, Gran! You’ve never seen anything like Caxley High Street. Worse than Michaelmas Fair! Traffic jams all up the road, and queues in all the shops. The Caxley traders will have a bumper Christmas, mark my words!’
    Mrs Berry stirred herself and followed the children into the kitchen to help them undress. Mary was unloading her baskets and carrier bags, rescuing nuts and Brussels sprouts which burst from wet paper bags on to the floor, and trying to take off her own sodden coat and headscarf all at the same time.
    ‘I seem to have spent a mint of money,’ she said apologetically, ‘and dear heaven knows where it’s all gone. We’ll have a reckon-up later on, but we were that pushed and hurried about I’ll be hard put to it to remember all the prices.’
    ‘No point in worrying,’ said Mrs Berry calmly. ‘If ’tis gone, ’tis gone. You won’t have wasted it, I know that, my girl. Here, let’s put on the kettle and make a cup of tea. You must be exhausted.’
    ‘Ah! It’s rough out,’ agreed Mary, sounding relieved now that she had confessed to forgetting the cost of some of her purchases. ‘But it’s the rush that takes it out of you. If only that ol’ bus came back half an hour later ’twould help. As it is, you have to keep one eye on the town clock all the time you’re shopping.’
    The little girls were delving into the bags, searching for their own secret shopping.
    ‘Now mind what you’re at,’ said Mary sharply. ‘Takeyour treasures and put ’em upstairs, and I’ll help you pack ’em up when we’ve had a cup of tea.’
    ‘Don’t tell,’ wailed Jane. ‘It’s a secret!’
    ‘A secret!’ echoed Frances.
    ‘It still is,’ retorted their mother. ‘Up you go then, and take the things up carefully. And put on your slippers,’ she shouted after them, as they clambered upstairs clutching several small packets against their chests.
    ‘Mad as hatters, they are,’ Mary confided to her mother. ‘Barmy as March hares – and all because of Christmas!’
    ‘All children are the same,’ replied Mrs Berry, pouring boiling water into the teapot, and peering through the silvery steam to make sure it was not overfull. ‘You three were as wild as they are, I well remember.’ She carried the tray into the living room. ‘Could you eat anything?’ she asked.
    ‘Not a thing,’ said Mary, flopping down, exhausted, into the armchair by the fire, ‘and a biscuit will be enough for the girls. They’re so excited they won’t sleep if they have too much before bedtime.’
    ‘We’ll get them upstairs early tonight,’ said her mother. ‘There are still some presents to pack.’
    ‘We’ll be lucky if they go to sleep before nine,’ prophesied Mary. ‘I heard Jane say she was going to stay awake to see if Father Christmas really does come. She doesn’t believe it anymore, you know. I’m positive about that, but she don’t let on in case he doesn’t come!’
    ‘She’s seven,’ observed Mrs Berry. ‘Can’t expect her to believe fairy tales all her