Polly turned to Frank. “The pudding. What did you do with the pudding, Frank?”
“What pudding?” said Frank.
Maud had come into the hall behind Wendy. “I know she’s made one. Don’t mess about, Frank. Where is it?”
Frank pointed vaguely over his shoulder.
Wendy said despairingly, “Back at Polly’s house? Oh, no!”
“Stupid cow. What are you talking about?” said Frank. “It’s on our own bloody doorstep. I had to put it down to open the door, didn’t I?”
Wendy squeezed past them and retrieved the white basin covered with a grease-proof paper top. She carried it quickly through to the kitchen and lowered it into the waiting saucepan of simmering water. “It looks a nice big one.”
This generous remark caused another gale of laughter from Polly. Finally, slurring her words, she announced, “You’ll have to make allowances. Your old man’s a very naughty boy. He’s took me out and got me tiddly.”
Maud said, “It beats me where he gets the money from.”
“Beats Wendy, too, I expect,” said Polly. She leaned closer to her sister-in-law, a lock of brown hair swaying across her face. “From what I’ve heard, you know a bit about beating, don’t you, Wen?” The remark wasn’t made in sympathy. It was triumphant.
Wendy felt the shame redden her face. Polly smirked and swung around, causing her black skirt to swirl as she left the room. The thick pencil lines she had drawn up the back of her legs to imitate stocking seams were badly smudged higher up. Wendy preferred not to think why.
She took the well-cooked bird from the oven, transferred it to a platter and carried it into the front room. Maud and Norman brought in the vegetables.
“Would you like to carve, Frank?”
“Hold your horses, woman. We haven’t said the Grace.”
Wendy started to say, “But we never...”
Frank had already intoned the words, “Dear Lord God Almighty.”
Everyone dipped their heads.
“Thanks for what we are about to receive,” Frank went on, “and for seeing to it that a skinny little half-pint won the meat raffle and decided to donate it to the Morris family.”
Maud clicked her tongue in disapproval.
Polly began to giggle.
“I can’t begin to understand the workings of your mysterious ways,” Frank insisted on going on, “because if there really is someone up there he should have made damned sure my brother Ted was sitting at this table today.”
Maud said, “That’s enough, Frank! Sit down.”
Frank said, “Amen. Where’s the carving knife?”
Wendy handed it to him, and he attended to the task, cutting thick slices and heaping them on the plates held by his mother. “That’s for Polly. She likes it steaming hot.”
Polly giggled again.
The plates were distributed around the table.
Not to be outdone in convivial wit, Polly said, “You’ve gone overboard on the breast, Frankie dear. I thought you were a leg man.”
Maud said tersely, “You should know.”
“Careful, Mum,” Frank cautioned, wagging the knife. “Goodwill to all men.”
Polly said, “Only if they behave themselves.”
A voice piped up, “Billy Slater says that—”
“Be quiet, Norman!” Wendy ordered.
They ate in heavy silence, save for Frank’s animalistic chewing and swallowing. The first to finish, he quickly filled his glass with more beer.
“Dad?”
“Yes, son.”
“Would we have won the war without the Americans?”
“The Yanks?” Frank scoffed. “Bunch of part-timers, son. They only came into it after men like me and your Uncle Ted had done all the real fighting. Just like the other war, the one my old Dad won. They waited till 1917. Isn’t that a fact, Mum? Americans? Where were they at Dunkirk? Where were they in Africa? I’ll tell you where they were — sitting on their fat backsides a couple of thousand miles away.”
“From what I remember, Frank,” Maud interjected. “You were sitting on yours in the snug-bar of the Valiant Trooper.”
“That was different!” Frank protested angrily. “Ted and I didn’t get called up until 1943. And when we were, we did our share. We chased Jerry all the way across Europe, right back to the bunker. Ted and me, brothers in arms, fighting for King and country. Ready to make the ultimate sacrifice. If Dad could have heard what you said just then, Mum, he’d turn in his grave.”
Maud said icily, “That would be difficult, seeing that he’s in a pot on my mantelpiece.”
Polly burst into helpless laughter and almost choked on a roast potato. It was injudicious of her.
“Belt up, will you?” Frank demanded. “We’re talking about the sacred memory of your dead husband. My brother.”
“Sorry, Frank.” Polly covered her mouth with her hands. “I don’t know what came over me. Honest.”
“You’ve no idea, you women,” Frank went on. “God knows what you got up to, while we were winning the war.”
“Anyway,” said Norman, “Americans have chewing gum. And jeeps.”
Fortunately, at this moment Frank was being distracted.
Wendy whispered in Norman’s ear and they both began clearing the table, but Maud put her hand over Wendy’s. She said, “Why don’t you sit down? You’ve done more than enough. I’ll fetch the pudding and custard. I’d like to get up for a while. It’s beginning to get a little warm in here.”
Polly offered to help. “It is my pudding, after all.” But she didn’t mean to get up because, unseen by the others, she had her hand on Frank’s thigh.
Maud said, “I’ll manage.”
Norman asked, “Is it a proper pudding?”
“I don’t know what you mean by proper,” said Polly. “It used up most of my rations when I made it. They have to mature, do puddings. This one is two years old. It should be delicious. There was only one drawback. In 1944, I didn’t have a man at home to help me stir the ingredients.” She gave Frank a coy smile.
Ignoring it, Wendy said, “When Norman asked if it was a proper pudding, I think he wanted to know if he might find a lucky sixpence inside.”
With a simper, Polly said, “He might, if he’s a good boy, like his Dad. Of course it’s a proper pudding.”
Frank quipped, “What about the other sort? Do you ever make an improper pudding?”
Before anyone could stop him, Norman said, “You should know, Dad.” His reflexes were too quick for his drunken father’s, and the swinging blow missed him completely.
“You’ll pay for that remark, my son,” Frank shouted. “You’ll wash your mouth out with soap and water and then I’ll beat your backside raw.”
Wendy said quickly, “The boy doesn’t know what he’s saying, Frank. It’s Christmas. Let’s forgive and forget, shall we?”
He turned his anger on her. “And I know very well who puts these ideas in the boy’s head. And spreads the filthy rumours all over town. You can have your Christmas Day, Wendy. Make the most of it, because tomorrow I’m going to teach you why they call it Boxing Day.”
Maud entered the suddenly silent front room carrying the dark, upturned pudding decorated with a sprig of holly. “Be an angel and fetch the custard, Norman.”
The boy was thankful to run out to the kitchen.
Frank glanced at the pudding and then at Polly and then grinned. “What a magnificent sight!” He was staring at her cleavage.
Polly beamed at him, fully herself again, her morale restored by the humiliation her sister-in-law had just suffered. “The proof of the pudding...” she murmured.
“We’ll see if 1944 was a vintage year,” said Frank.
Maud sliced and served the pudding, giving Norman an extra large helping. The pudding was a delicious one, as Polly had promised, and there were complimentary sounds all round the table.