Hannah shook her head.
‘Are we still on for Christmas day?’ said Kathryn, moving behind the counter and reaching for their cups.
‘Um, yes. Do you mind if Joseph joins us?’
‘No, you must bring him. Douglas is also coming.’
Hannah got to her feet, tucking the bar stool back under the counter. ‘What can I bring, Kathryn?’
‘How about some Christmas crackers? The kids love them. And chocolates for the table, maybe?’
‘That doesn’t sound like much,’
‘It’s that or nothing – your choice,’ Kathryn called from the kitchen at the back.
‘Mean and bossy,’ muttered Hannah.
‘I heard that!’ She appeared again, grinning.
‘Can you believe it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow already?’
‘I can’t wait. I close this place tomorrow at lunchtime. And then two days of bliss.’
‘Two days of cooking up a storm at home, you mean,’ said Hannah with a wry smile.
‘Who said I was cooking? Didn’t I tell you we have toasted sandwiches for Christmas lunch?’
Hannah picked up her keys and turned for the door. ‘That would be fine with me. It’s you who would never allow it.’ She could hear Kathryn’s burble of laughter as she walked down the front steps.
As she ambled back to the shop, Hannah was lost in thought. Kathryn’s words came back to her. She didn’t know her strength. She had never flexed that muscle. But then, the thought of Alistair’s complexity frightened her. If she wasn’t strong enough to deal with him and his past, she certainly wasn’t strong enough to manage the fallout which would certainly come when she left him.
24 December 1901, Goshen Camp, Orange River Colony
Dear Wolf,
I am dreading Christmas in the camp, ashamed I complained about last Christmas at all. I didn’t know then how bad things were going to get. We were on Silwerfontein. We roasted chickens and potatoes. We pulled beans from the garden, and glossed carrots with honey. And then you surprised us. The girls sang for us at the pianoforte, Lizzie’s lisp and earnest eyes making us smile. Oupa Jakob scooped her up and danced her around the room, her little feet swinging as she threw her head back in delight.
Kristina was the star, though, wasn’t she? I wonder if, after the war, she might explore music further? It seems the only thing she feels passionately about, the only discipline she will sit under. She would certainly draw a crowd with her singing, even now, untrained. And Pa took Ma in his arms and they danced on the stoep in the dark, with the music floating through the lit windows. It added a headiness to the night, the joy of being together after so many months apart. It is a dangerous dream now.
I think, if I ever leave this place, I will always remember this December 1901. It has changed my picture of December, but it is right to remember the great loss this month. So many have died – the worst month I have seen. We have not been able to dig graves fast enough.
People don’t stop dying because it’s Christmas. I am the bearer of their names and perhaps I, more than anyone else in the camp, realise how many we have lost. Because I keep count and write their names, the lists haunt me. People know they must come and report a death to me, and they do. Sometimes a mother comes, the grief and horror slack on her face. Sometimes it’s a child, telling me his sister or mother or granny is dead. Sometimes they are so little, I have to wheedle out their name. Sometimes the child doesn’t know what their mama’s name is. The worst for me, though – and perhaps because I fear this for myself – is when someone notices a body in a neighbouring shelter. It might have been lying there for a few days but because they were alone or the last of their family, nobody was there at their passing. This fills me with dread, because it will happen to me. More than anything I want to know that I am loved.
Am I?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Christmas day dawned with an intense Free State blue sky. Hannah could see it would be fiercely hot later. She walked through to the kitchen, finding Joseph nursing a cup of coffee at the table. Reaching for a mug, she flicked the kettle back on to boil.
‘I think I might go across to the church this morning,’ she said.
Joseph looked up in surprise. ‘What for?’
‘It’s Christmas day, Josey!’
‘Yes, and have you ever been to church on Christmas day before?’
‘No, but so what? I think I’d like to try it.’
‘Hannah, it’s not a new flavour of ice cream. You kind of have to believe in God to go to church. Just as a bare minimum.’ Amusement was thick in his voice.
‘Laugh all you like. It might be fun. And who knows, I might meet him there.’
‘Who? Alistair?’
‘No, you muppet, God! I might meet God at church.’
‘Riiight,’ said Joseph, earning himself a soft clip to the head.
Hannah, not sure what one should wear to church, eventually pulled on a gypsy top with a denim skirt which almost reached her knees. She twisted her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck and pulled on simple sandals.
The sun was already hot on her neck, even at eight in the morning, as she crossed the square, ducking into the deep shade of the plane trees. Cars were parked on the verges outside St Luke’s, and smartly dressed people streamed through the lychgate into the arched doorway of the church. Douglas stood at the door, looking strangely comfortable in a long white robe and white-and-gold embroidered stole, its two ends hanging in front to mid-calf.
His face lit in a smile when he saw her. ‘Hannah!’ he said, pulling her into a big hug.
‘Douglas, you look… different.’
‘Weird, hey?’ he said cheerfully; then, drawing closer, he whispered loudly, ‘But you would never know I only have my underpants on underneath this robe.’ He winked at her shocked intake of breath, and she had to smother her laughter as he turned to greet a staid-looking couple behind her.
The service was a surprise. The church was full of holidaymakers and local families. Little children, dressed in their new Christmas outfits, snuck up the aisle and hung on the communion rail while Douglas led traditional Christmas carols. After the singing, Douglas began to tell the nativity story by enacting a play on the fly. He pulled members of the congregation up to the front, furnishing them with donkey ears and shepherds’ crooks. He charmed the women in the church by turning some into angels, complete with halos and wings. Even a frail ninety-year-old lady was pulled into the fun, garlanded with tinsel and told she was gorgeous. Douglas called a mother from the back, where she was jiggling a baby and trying to be unobtrusive. He pulled a blue sheet around her, turning her into a shy Madonna, and the story came alive. The laughter and strong sense of family were intoxicating. Hannah’s memories of the posh London cocktail parties, designer trees, and elaborate gifts fell away. She felt like she was experiencing Christmas for the first time.
Neil and Sarah caught up with her outside afterwards. Neil tucked her into his side with one arm and kept hold of her while they chatted about the service. Alistair exited the church with Suzanne on one side and a pretty woman, who looked so like Sarah, Hannah thought she must be another sister, on the other. They came over, and Sarah introduced Hannah to Gen, who had arrived the day before. She was small and immaculately dressed in a pastel shift dress with flats to match, her hair falling in glossy waves to her shoulders. You couldn’t get two more different sisters. Suzanne, her beautiful face clear of make-up and red hair pulled into her habitual looped ponytail, had put on a faded-blue cotton sundress for the occasion. Hannah wondered how much Sarah had had to do with that. Yet, with no effort or self-awareness, Suzanne still managed to look like a model off a summer shoot.