Christmas at the Farmhouse - Rebecca Boxall Page 0,32

walked down to the river. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon early in May and, as usual, my parents thought I was at Penny’s farm. I lay with my head in Robin’s lap, listening to the sounds of birds chirruping and the steady flow of the water.

‘What are you thinking about?’ I asked him.

‘Trying to remember the words to a poem by Christina Rossetti.’

I smiled. ‘I hope this baby has your brains. And that she looks like you, come to that.’

‘Do you think it’s a girl? I hope she has your sweet nature. I think I’ve remembered it – the poem.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I know a baby, such a baby, –

Round blue eyes and cheeks of pink,

Such an elbow furrowed with dimples,

Such a wrist where creases sink.

‘Cuddle and love me, cuddle and love me,’

Crows the mouth of coral pink:

Oh, the bald head, and, oh, the sweet lips,

And, oh, the sleepy eyes that wink!’

‘That’s sweet,’ I replied. I had my eyes shut, but I could feel the sun warming my eyelids and a gentle breeze rustling my skirt.

‘Susan, will you marry me?’

I opened my eyes, shielding them from the sun, and looked up. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I will.’

We walked back towards the town, arms linked, chattering all the way and making plans.

‘We’ll get married soon,’ said Robin. ‘Before you start to show.’

‘What about your training, though?’ I asked. ‘Becoming a doctor… a country GP…’

‘That will have to come later. I’ll get a job, after I’ve finished my A levels next summer. I’m sure our parents will help us out until then.’

But I wasn’t so sure. ‘I’m so scared of telling them,’ I admitted to Robin.

‘Then let’s do it right away. Come on. When they see that I want to make an honest woman of you, they’ll be happy enough.’

‘You don’t know my father.’

‘He can’t be any worse than mine.’

***

‘Mother!’ I called out. Despite being such a bright day, the house was as dark and chilly as usual.

Mother came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her pinny, and looked shocked when she saw I was standing in the hallway with a boy.

‘Susan! You’ve brought somebody home. You should have warned me.’

‘Is Father here?’ I asked.

‘Yes, he’s in the lounge…’ She looked terribly flustered. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked Robin, but he shook his head.

‘We’d just like a word with you and your husband, if it’s not too much trouble?’

Mother’s eyes popped out on stalks, but she told us to wait there a moment and knocked on the lounge door. She scurried in, looking for all the world like Father’s servant. I heard low voices murmuring behind the door. Robin gave me a reassuring smile. Eventually, Mother appeared again.

‘Come through,’ she said. ‘I apologise for the state of the carpet,’ she said to Robin, gesturing at the spotless floor. ‘Only I haven’t vacuumed today…’

‘I’m sure the boy couldn’t care less,’ said my father, squashing her. ‘And you are?’ he said, without bothering to get up off his armchair. Robin leant forward, offering a handshake, which my father deigned to provide.

‘I’m Robin, sir. Robin Jenners.’

‘Name rings a bell,’ he said, as he frowned. ‘What does your father do?’

‘He’s a teacher, sir, at the Secondary Modern.’

Father looked coldly at Robin. ‘And what,’ he said, ‘can I do for you?’

‘Actually, I wanted to ask your permission… to…’ He cleared his throat. ‘To marry your daughter.’

Father laughed out loud, though it sounded more like a bark and made Mother jump. ‘What nonsense! You’re children, both of you. Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I’m being serious, sir,’ Robin replied.

Father continued to look half-amused, half-confused, until I saw his face beginning to turn red – the colour of the deeply shamed. ‘Please don’t tell me,’ he said in a dangerously quiet voice, ‘that you’ve got my daughter in the family way.’

I stepped forward. It wasn’t fair for Robin to have to answer him. ‘It’s true, Father. I’m expecting a baby. But we’re very much in love…’

‘Love!’ Father barked. ‘Love!’ As if such a concept were as fantastical as flying pigs and Father Christmas. A noise like a growl came out of Father’s mouth.

‘I know who your father is!’ he suddenly said, accusingly, pointing at Robin with a stubby finger. ‘I’ve heard the rumours about that man. That despicable creep! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?’ he boomed. ‘Now get out of my house! I never want to see your face again!’

I reached out a hand to Robin and I could feel him shaking.