The Christmas Tree (a short story)

The Christmas Tree
It wouldn’t be the same without Andrew this Christmas, never mind the paraphernalia of the black outs and rationing and the appalling reality that Mrs. Spencer’s chickens were needed for layers this year. Christmas without a bird of some kind was hard to envisage. Imagining Andrew contemplating much of the same fayre, or lack of it, wherever he was, Lyn Prendergast’s face clouded over. The prettiest face in Belchester, Andrew told her, even if Lyn, more accepting of the truth, saw it for what it was, a plain to middling face and only her eyes, long lashed and midnight blue, shining below her thick, coppery hair, raising it above the ordinary.
News of the tree was the final straw.
‘Mother we simply have to have a tree!’
‘I’m afraid my darling, a tree is something else we must do without.’ Ever pragmatic, Audrey Prendergast turned away from the window where she’d been watching the snow settle, large fat flakes drifting at random, multiplying until the sky was white over. ‘How could we get it back here?’
‘We could manage between us.’
The moment the words left her mouth, Lyn knew it was hopeless. Impossible to imagine two women struggling all the way from Top Fell Pike with a tree, never mind the thoughts of her dear, fastidious mother doing anything quite so strenuous. The picture it suggested nearly undid her. Her smile was the first that morning.
By lunch-time, everything was white over. Curling up on the window-seat in the front room, Lyn thought of Andrew and how long it was since his last leave in September, the skies clouding over, leaves fading from their summer brilliance, the evenings already drawing in. He hadn’t been himself, the war and his involvement in it, preying on his mind she suspected, though he’d never said as much. She had no idea why she hadn’t asked. Because he wouldn’t have told her anyway, came the instant, undeniable answer. Steady, kind, reliable Andrew, never good with words, who could be anywhere, where the fighting was heaviest, she assumed when she thought about it, which she tried so hard not to do. She read the papers avidly.
Last year, knowing that Christmas together might be their last, a fact unspoken but painfully recognised, they’d gone together to fetch the tree, Andrew lifting it into the back of his father’s furniture van, together with a smaller version for his mother.
She jumped up and went through into the kitchen and busied herself with the lunch. They simply had to have a tree, the focal point of Christmas! She felt if only there was a tree, everything else would fall into place, cancelling out what was happening in the rest of the world. Husbands, fathers, ripped from their loved ones, families torn apart.
Such unimaginable horrors. Cracking into a bowl the two eggs Audrey had fetched from Mrs. Spencer’s that morning, she forced her mind back to the problem of the tree. If they didn’t have a tree, she wouldn’t be able to make a wish and that didn’t bear thinking about.
Lyn’s Christmas wish, the family joke.
Every year when the candles were lit on the tree, she made a wish, a ritual she’d carried out right from when she was a little girl, only old enough to lisp whatever it was she so longed for. Then of course, her wishes had been of the small, easily satisfied variety. A new doll, a pram to push it in and, as she got older, other more complicated wants and needs, once a pair of bright red shoes, with shiny plastic buckles she’d seen in Mr. Meyers shoe-shop window. How old had she been, ten, eleven? At the time, she’d simply ached for those shoes! That their miraculous arrival on Christmas morning might have had more to do with Audrey seeing her daughter staring longingly through the shoe-shop window, rather than any action on Lyn’s part, Lyn had been wise enough to acknowledge, even then, even as young as she was. Of course, she didn’t really believe in it, it was only a bit of fun.
If she never wished, there’d never be a chance of her wish coming true. The thought decided her, that and the snow and thinking of her old school friend Evelyn and knowing, instantly, she’d be happy to lend a hand. Evelyn, now a colleague in the munition’s factory, the other side of town, where she and Lyn worked.

‘We must be crazy! Or am I the only crazy one allowing you to talk me into this?’
Evelyn grinned good-naturedly.
It was bitter cold on Top Fell Pike even in summer, never mind now, the depths of winter and the wind piling snow against the rocks and into the crevices. It looked pretty, shrouding the plantation of fir trees with a burden so heavy, their drooping branches swept the ground. Like icing on a Christmas cake, or an impossibly festive Christmas card she would have loved to send to Andrew if only she’d known where to send it!
They selected a decent sized tree, lugged it onto the sledge and fastened it down with rope. The sledge had been a brainwave. Lyn’s brainwave. She straightened up, gasping at the bitter wind filling her eyes with tears.
‘Stop and have tea with us. Mother won’t mind.’
‘Is that a bribe?’
‘A threat more like!’
Both girls laughed. Tea would be whatever Audrey could scratch together, leftovers from the pantry, same as always, even on Christmas Eve. They’d been in high spirits since they’d got here, laughing in the face of adversity. Each taking a rope end, heads bowed against the wind, even now hurling tiny, stinging shards of ice against their faces, they set off, dragging the sledge, slowly and carefully back down the valley.

‘Isn’t it splendid?’ Lyn cried, some long while later, jumping down from the chair on which she’d been so precariously balanced and stepping back to admire their efforts.
The tea, consisting of fish paste sandwiches and eggless cake, had been consumed amongst much hilarity, after which Evelyn had stayed on to help dress the tree. Both girls gazed in awe at the battered, ancient fairy, wand askew, lodged on top of the Prendergast Christmas tree since time immemorial, the same tired old chipped baubles, spinning from branches wrapped round with tinsel. Shortly they’d light the candles. It was Christmas Eve, of course they’d light the candles and afterwards, just as always, Lyn would make a wish. This Christmas, it was more important than ever. Was she being fanciful or even worse, ever so slightly ridiculous? What did it matter if she made a wish or not!
She blinked furiously.
‘He’ll be safe, don’t worry.’
Evelyn squeezed her hand. Her John was safe in an office job in Cairo. He wouldn’t be home for Christmas but at least she did know where he was. Not knowing was worse, harder than anything. If only Lyn knew where Andrew was!
Audrey fetched the matches from the ledge in the scullery and did the honours. Evelyn switched out the light. The effect was magical, turning the room into an enchanted palace of glittering stars, catching at the brilliance of the ancient shiny balls and giving impression of the tree gently swaying, as if it was still up on Top Fell Pike, the winter wind whistling through its branches.
Please keep Andrew safe from harm. Please bring him safely home for Christmas! She hadn’t meant to add this last, but the thought sprang unbidden from her longing to see him, now, this very instant, overriding this wretched war keeping them apart. Like a mantra, she repeated it, over and over, even when she knew it was impossible. She’d spoiled it, spoiled everything! This time, for the very first time, she’d made a wish no amount of longing could ever turn into truth.
But then, miraculously, to Lyn’s amazement, it felt that for one glorious moment, Andrew really was present, standing beside her and gazing down laughingly into her face, as tangible a truth, as if, shaking snow from his coat, throwing off his cap onto the hall table, he’d opened the door and sauntered in, happy as ever. She swayed, frowning slightly, unable to understand it or what was happening to her. A mirage or hallucination, a longing brought to wonderful, brilliant life! And there he was, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, his hand lifting to brush a stray curl from her cheek before he kissed her.
Her hand flew to her lips and reality hit her. It had been no more than a dream created by her desperate longing to see him again. She gazed round, seeing only steady familiarity, the battered sofa, the bowl of Christmas roses on the inlaid table, even the wretched Christmas tree, the very presence of which had caused this heartache.
‘Have you made a wish, darling?’ Audrey enquired, her smile fading. As if even she knew, this year of all years, Lyn’s wish couldn’t possibly come true.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Audrey demanded, a little sharply.
It was Christmas morning and the church bells were ringing out over the valley. Lyn had hardly slept a wink. She took her tea and did her best to smile, meanwhile gazing out of the parlour window onto a world so white and pure, it was impossible to think, a few short miles across the channel was such bloodshed and carnage.
They spent their day doing the ordinary Christmas things, it was Christmas after all, except there was no Andrew and no young men in church either, conspicuous by their absence and the lack of deep voices to join in with the carols. Walking home, they discovered it was snowing again, wind-blown flakes stinging their faces, so they were glad to reach sanctuary and the joint of pork Audrey’s thrift had provided for Christmas lunch. Neighbours popped in, partaking of a glass of sherry before just as quickly popping out again. In the evening, they sat by the fire and read for an hour. Audrey finished her knitting. Lyn made cocoa. The day passed. There would be other days, other Christmases when she and Andrew could be together, Lyn assured herself, hanging onto the thought, the one obvious thought holding her together. There would be other Christmases. She went to bed, waking early, forcing herself to remain in bed and rising at the usual time. Normality would get her through this, or as normal as life could ever be with this wretched war. Downstairs, she drew back the curtains and as light flooded the room, averted her gaze from the Christmas tree that she felt, ridiculously, had so badly let her down.

It was amazing how quickly another year passed. A whole year and here she was, applying the finishing touches to the decorations yet again, paper chains, holly and mistletoe and of course, the tree to dress. It hardly seemed possible this morning she’d been up to Top Fell Pike, selecting a tree with Andrew, not as tall as the one she and Evelyn had brought home last Christmas but a decent enough tree for all that.
Andrew had been subdued all day but perhaps he didn’t feel the same this year either. Lyn reached up and placed the battered fairy carefully on the topmost branch. One wing broken, the dress ripped, its wand at a rakish angle, Christmas wouldn’t be the same without it. She turned to Andrew, hoping to elicit some response. He’d been so quiet since his demob, as if he were a stranger, albeit a polite and pleasant one. He hadn’t talked much about the war, though she sensed it would do him good if he could. She stepped back, her joy in the moment evaporating. Things weren’t the same, how could they be after everything he’d been through, but couldn’t he at least try?
‘Very nice,’ he muttered unconvincingly, glancing up from the evening paper. The right words but how empty they sounded. Was it the war or something else entirely, a worry she’d pushed to the back of her mind? This time she faced it. Had their time apart dulled his feelings towards her and it was only that he didn’t know how to tell her? She went through into the kitchen and mashed tea, frowning through the window at the world white over. What a terribly traumatic, ultimately wonderful year it had been. The weeks of waiting, then the stupendous news they’d been so longing for that Andrew was safe. She’d never forget the joy of that moment.
He was back working in his father’s furniture firm, as he’d always meant once he’d left college, if only for the war. Meanwhile, Lyn had fixed herself up with a job at a firm of solicitors in town where she was already learning shorthand. She meant to get on. They both meant to get on and they had everything going for them.
He did all the right things, said all the right things. Said nothing, Lyn thought suddenly, savagely, an unexpected tear rolling down her cheek. Hastily she brushed it away. Audrey said be patient, he’d been through so much and that he’d talk when he was ready. It was only important she be around when that moment arrived.
She toasted bread, spread butter, poached the eggs that were in such wonderful abundance, as if even the hens were glad the war was over. Later, after they’d eaten, they sat on the sofa by the fire. Night fell. She got up and drew the curtains.
‘Aren’t you going to light the candles and make a wish?’ he asked.
‘Later!’ she replied, more sharply than she’d intended but it seeming to her now, brimming as she was with post-war sensibilities, that making a wish on a Christmas tree was an impossibly childish thing to do. She sat down again. They desperately needed to talk, and she refused to put it off a second longer.
‘Do you love me, Andrew?’ she blurted out, not at all as she’d intended and only too painfully aware of his start of surprise.
‘Of course I love you. What ever made you think I didn’t love you?’
‘You’ve been so quiet, I thought…’
‘What? What did you think?’
‘You were quiet because of us, that you’d changed your mind about us, being together, I mean, and it was only you didn’t know how to say.’
‘But it didn’t mean…it doesn’t mean… I can’t believe you thought that! Oh hang it Lyn! You know I’m no good with words!’
‘Try Andrew, this is important,’ she urged.
His eyes filled with a quiet desperation.
‘It’s been hard getting back into the routine that’s all. Putting what’s happened behind me, the war, I mean. Life’s felt unreal, like I can’t escape the past. It’ll take time, I expect,’ he finished lamely, as if, even now, he couldn’t comfortably explain himself. ‘It’s nothing to do with how I feel about you. I thought you understood.’
Relief and happiness flooded through Lyn in equal measure.
‘I needed you to tell me.’
He turned towards her, a curious light shining in his eyes.
‘Knowing you were here waiting for me, was the one thing kept me going.’
‘I wanted to be with you so much, Andrew. That’s why this Christmas is so special! I don’t know how we got through the last one.’
He took her hand and stroked it gently. ‘And you think I didn’t miss you? Last Christmas was a prime example!’
‘You’ve never told me anything about your war,’ she pointed out.
‘Do you want me to tell you?’
‘It would do you good.’
She shouldn’t have had to point this out either and his shoulders lifted in complicity. A log fell, sending a burst of sparks up the chimney back. ‘Most of it’s a blur but…some things stick,’ he began pensively, his face warmed by fire-light. ‘Last Christmas Eve for one. Just because it was Christmas, it didn’t mean to say the fighting had stopped. Our company was on its way to re-take a bridge we’d lost the day before, only just our bad luck the snow worsened the moment we set off. Hard to see a hand in front of a face, never mind the detachment of enemy soldiers we met on the way! Our troops scattered, taking cover where they could until the order came through the exercise was cancelled, and we were to make our own way back to base. I’ve no idea how I lost my bearings but unfortunately, that’s exactly what I did. I was lost, disorientated and wandered too close to enemy lines. I was hit by a sniper, target practice, I think.’
‘Oh God, Andrew, why have I never heard this before?’
‘It was nothing, nothing serious. The bullet grazed my forehead, but I fell and cracked my head and knocked myself out, I’ve no idea how long for.’ His thumb stroked her hand rhythmatically, as if even now he wasn’t sure he should be telling her this. He stumbled on. ‘When I came too, everywhere was white over and I’d no idea where I was, where to find my unit, or the enemy come to that! Night was drawing in and I was so damn tired, all I wanted was to lie down and go to sleep again and…and…hope I never woke up. I couldn’t see the point of it anymore. The whole blasted war and everything with it! I hope you can understand that, but all the men were miserable. It was Christmas. All we wanted was to go home to our families.’
His voice ground to a halt.
‘Oh Andrew, of course I can understand! Tell me the rest,’ she insisted when nothing else appeared forthcoming.
His head lifted. ‘Out there, in the cold and the dark, I started to think about you and what you’d say, if I didn’t get home. And then suddenly, amazingly, I heard your voice, as clear as I can hear it now, as if you were there, beside me, your presence seemed so real!’ His voice was tinged with bewilderment as if even now, a whole year later, he still couldn’t understand it. He frowned. ‘You know that silly old tradition you have that I’ve always rather loved you for? You’d just wished on the Christmas tree and you’d come to tell me what you’d wished for, that you wanted me home, and that Christmas wasn’t the same without me.’
‘But Andrew, how strange.’
‘I felt I was letting you down because I couldn’t get home, no matter that was what I longed for. But then I thought of all the Christmases when we would be together, when the war was over. Even though we were together then, too, in an odd kind of way.’
What was Lyn to make of this? And yet, what had happened was hardly surprising. She always made a wish on the tree on Christmas Eve and it was only natural Andrew would think of her, exactly as she’d thought of him. But for each to feel the other’s presence as if the miles between had never existed?
‘It helped bring me to my senses. The thought of you, wanting me home.’
‘Oh Andrew! I did, so very desperately and oddly, possibly at the very same moment you were thinking of me. I felt you were here with me, too. As real as I see you now.’
‘It must have been our mutual longing.’
‘It must.’ She had to agree. But how strange she’d imagined the tree had let her down when all along, in such an unexpected way, it had brought them together again. ‘What happened then?’ she asked curiously.
‘I headed off in what I hoped was the right direction. I’m still not sure how I got back to my unit. A guardian angel guiding me, I think.’
‘I could have lost you.’
The enormity of the thought took Lyn’s breath. Was it true then? Had the fact of making a wish under the Christmas tree reached out to Andrew across all those miles? As if the distance between had never existed!
Some things were best not deliberated on, only accepted as what was meant to be.
‘I wanted to tell you about it, but I thought you’d think me foolish.’ Touchingly embarrassed, he stopped and shook his head. “Light the candles woman!” he growled and typical of him, turning the situation into a joke.
Lyn fetched the matches, Andrew switched out the light, plunging the world, their world, into a shimmering beacon of light.
The candles burned steadily. Like their love, Lyn thought, unprompted and tears springing into her eyes. Despite it all, despite everything. How could she ever have doubted it was there all along? And this time when Andrew kissed her, she knew, with a burning certainty, wishes under the Christmas tree really did come true.