The Christmas Mouse Read Free Page B

life.’
    ‘They’ve been telling her at school,’ said Mary. ‘Once they start school they lose all their pretty ways. Franceshas only had six months there, but she’s too knowing by half.’
    The women sipped their tea, listening to the children moving about above them and relishing a few quiet moments on their own.
    ‘They can have a good long time in the bath tonight,’ said Mary, thinking ahead, ‘then they’ll be in trim to go to church with you tomorrow.’
    ‘But wouldn’t you like to go?’
    ‘No, Mum. I’ll see to the turkey while you’re out. The service means more to you than me. Somehow church doesn’t seem the same since Bertie went. Pointless, somehow.’
    Mrs Berry was too taken aback to comment on this disclosure, and the entry of the children saved her from further conversation on the matter.
    Her thoughts were in turmoil as she poured milk into the children’s mugs and opened the biscuit tin for their probing fingers.
    That unguarded remark of Mary’s had confirmed her suspicions. She had watched Mary’s growing casualness to religious matters and her increasing absences at church services with real concern. When Stanley died, she had found her greatest consolation in prayer and the teachings of the Church. ‘Thy Will Be Done,’ it said on the arch above the chancel steps, and for old Mrs Berry those words had been both succour, support and reason.
    But, with the death of Bertie, Mary had grown hard, and had rejected a God who allowed such suffering to occur. Mrs Berry could understand the change of heart, but it did not lessen her grief for this daughter who turned her face from the comfort of religious beliefs. Withoutsubmission to a divine will, who could be happy? We were too frail to stand and fight alone, but that’s what Mary was doing, and why she secretly was so unhappy.
    Mrs Berry thrust these thoughts to the back of her mind. It was Christmas Eve, the time for good will to all men, the time to rejoice in the children’s pleasure, and to hope that, somehow, the warmth and love of the festival would thaw the frost in Mary’s heart.
    ‘Bags not the tap end!’ Mrs Berry heard Jane shout an hour later, as the little girls capered naked about the bathroom.
    ‘Mum, she
always
makes me sit the tap end!’ complained Frances. ‘And the cold tap drips down my back. It’s not fair!’
    ‘No grizzling now on Christmas Eve,’ said Mary briskly. ‘You start the tap end, Frances, and you can change over at halftime. That’s fair. You’re going to have a nice long bathtime tonight while I’m helping Gran. Plenty of soap, don’t forget, and I’ll look at your ears when I come back.’
    Mrs Berry heard the bath door close, and then open again.
    ‘And stop sucking your facecloth, Frances,’ scolded her mother. ‘Anyone’d think you’re a little baby, instead of a great girl of five.’
    The door closed again, and Mary reappeared, smiling.
    ‘They’ll be happy for twenty minutes. Just listen to them!’
    Two young treble voices, wildly flat, were bellowing ‘Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,’ to a background of splashes and squeals.
    ‘Did you manage to find some slippers for them?’ asked Mrs Berry.
    ‘Yes, Tom’s Christine had put them by for me, and I had a quick look while the girls were watching someone try on shoes. There’s a lot to be said for knowing people in the shops. They help you out on occasions like this.’
    She was rummaging in a deep oilcloth bag as she spoke, and now drew out two boxes. Inside were the slippers. Both were designed to look like rabbits, with shiny black beads for eyes, and silky white whiskers. Jane’s pair were blue, and Frances’ red. They were Mrs Berry’s present to her grandchildren, and she nodded her approval at Mary’s choice.
    ‘Very nice, dear, very nice. I’ll just tuck a little chocolate bar into each one—’
    ‘There’s no need, Mum. This is plenty. You spoil them,’ broke in Mary.
    ‘Maybe, but