I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,17

himself before the words came out. Sometimes he realised how much of a nag he was; and though Charlie understood he was merely caring for his welfare, he even bored himself sometimes being Mr Goody Two-Shoes.

‘My, this is a feast,’ announced Charlie, patting crumbs away from his mouth. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had sandwiches and soup sitting by a fireside being snowed in. I think I was a small boy in my grandmother’s house. That must be nearly seventy years ago.’

It certainly was a feast. Washed down with many coffees and teas, huddled around the great fire, the food acquired a deliciousness equal to far more than its components.

‘Wonder what’s happening out there in the rest of the country,’ said Robin, nodding towards the window.

‘The radio works, I tried it earlier. Shall I see if I can bring up the news?’ suggested Bridge. She didn’t wait for an answer but went over to switch it back on. There was only static when she turned up the volume; the station she had left it tuned to had dissolved into the ether. She twiddled the knob round and round to not much avail, heard the traces of a few distant foreign stations, then – at last – the crystal-clear strains of a tune with bells at the end, followed by the northern tones of a man who seemed to be devoid of his top or bottom set of teeth, possibly both.

‘You’re listening to BBC Radio Brian. That’s Brian Bernard Cosgrove, not the British Broadcasting Corporation. Coming to you from the snowy Yorkshire moors. I hope you’re all safe and sound in your houses with the fire on. Like being in the war, isn’t it?’

‘I’m sure in the war the BBC announcers had their teeth in,’ said Charlie before Robin shushed him.

‘Welcome to my gentle world of yesteryear with me, chit-chat and good music,’ Radio Brian continued. ‘In a moment, we’re going to have the festive voices of the King’s Singers and “O Holy Night”, but first a weather update for this region, which stretches, I do believe, as far south as Bridlington, and we have had reports of a listener in Newcastle. “Stay where you are” is what the other BBC is saying. A snow plough in Whitby has got stuck and is blocking the road, which more than adequately sums up the hopeless situation we’re in. There will be no let-up tonight. So without further ado…’

‘Does that include where we are?’ asked Jack, talking over toothless Brian.

‘Yes, we’re most definitely in the middle of that area,’ replied Charlie. ‘I spent a lot of my childhood years in Whitby, before we moved down to London when my father died. That’s why it’s so odd that I’ve never heard of Figgy Hollow.’ His brow creased as the brain behind them sifted through years-worth of information in a bid to find a mention of it.

‘The King’s Singers?’ said Jack as the music drifted out of the radio speakers. ‘My dad used to have their records.’

‘I think they’ve been together about twenty-five years,’ said Radio Brian.

‘Wrong,’ Charlie countered. ‘They’ve passed their fiftieth anniversary. We know because we went to see them in Carnegie Hall. Superb venue, perfect acoustics.’

He stopped talking then and they all listened to the hymn, the music sinking into them along with the heat from the fire. Bridge tried not to think that ‘O Holy Night’ was the song carol singers were performing outside the town hall when she walked out of it as a married woman on her wedding day. She hadn’t been able to bear listening to it for the past few years. It was so beautiful that it felt like a sharp pin in her breast, memories hung from the notes like decorations from Christmas-tree branches.

As it drew to a close, Mary sighed. ‘How lovely was that?’

‘Yes it was, but I’m not sure I can listen to any more of Radio Brian babbling on. Okay to turn him off for now?’ asked Bridge, who sounded as piqued at Brian as if he had deliberately picked that hymn to annoy her. She hit the off switch with a ‘Thank you for the info, other BBC. We know where you are if we want a weather update.’

Charlie yawned and set off a chain reaction. ‘I think I might have to go to bed soon,’ he said. ‘I’m absolutely—’

‘Shh,’ said Mary, suddenly. ‘What’s that?’

Everyone fell silent. There was nothing to hear. Jack was about to say as much when