The Jacqueline Wilson Christmas Cracker Read online

  It was dear Janet who solved our problem. ‘You must come to our house for Christmas Day,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Jem and Father could give Peg a chairlift to our house. We have a big oven, and you know how much my mother loves cooking. Please say you’ll come, Jem and Hetty.’

  I think we were both torn. I wanted to have a wonderful Christmas in our house, and that was what Jem seemed to want too. If only our walls could expand so I could invite the Maples and many other guests besides. Perhaps not my foster sisters. I’d seen a little too much of them at the funeral.

  I’d have liked to invite my father for Christmas. Katherine and Mina and Ezra could have smokies and baked cod and fishy pudding back where they belonged. I’d have liked my dear friend Freda the Female Giant to come too, though we might have to raise the ceiling specially. I’d have liked to see my pal Bertie the butcher’s boy too, and he would surely bring us a fine turkey or a side of beef, but I wasn’t so sure Jem would enjoy his company. And oh, most of all I’d have liked to send an invitation up to Heaven and have Mama pop down for the day. I’d make her a feast even better than manna, whatever that was. I just knew it was the only food they seemed to eat in Heaven. I paused, trying to decide what Mama would most like to eat during her visit.

  ‘Hetty?’ said Jem. He gave me a little nudge.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to Janet. ‘She’s got that look in her eye. I think she’s picturing again.’

  ‘Don’t tease me, you two,’ I said, coming back to my senses. ‘It’s so kind of you and your family to invite us for Christmas, Janet. We’d love to come, wouldn’t we, Jem?’

  So that’s what we did. It was all very jolly and we ate like kings. Mother particularly enjoyed herself. Mrs Maple was so kind to her. She’d made up a special chair like a throne, with extra cushions and blankets and shawls, and gave her a special Christmas meal tactfully cut into tiny pieces.

  Mother was learning how to feed herself again now, though her hands were very shaky and she sometimes lost concentration halfway to her mouth. She couldn’t help making a mess on the tablecloth and looked upset, but Mrs Maple patted her shoulder and said calmly, ‘Don’t fret, Peg dear, you’re doing splendidly.’

  We ate turkey, the very first time I’d tasted it. I didn’t care for the live birds at all, with their weird worm-pink heads and fat feathery bodies and yellow claws. I always skirted round the turkey shed, keeping my distance. I’d had no idea that such a grotesque creature could taste so sweet and succulent. We had roast potatoes too, crisp and golden, and parsnips and carrots and small green sprouts like baby cabbages.

  We ate until we were nearly bursting, but when we were offered a second serving we said yes please and Mother nodded enthusiastically. There were puddings too – a rich figgy pudding with a custard, a pink blancmange like a fairy castle, and a treacle tart with whipped cream. I could not choose which pudding I wanted because they all looked so wonderful, so I had a portion of each. This was a serious mistake, as I was wearing my first proper grown-up corset for the occasion. I’d bought it in the hope that squeezing my stomach in with its strong whalebone might help a little bust to pop out at the top, but I remained disappointingly flat-chested – and unable to breathe properly into the bargain.

  I was glad I hadn’t tried to encase Mother in her own corsets. She spread comfortably underneath her loose gown. She usually fell fast asleep after a big meal, but she stayed wide awake for the present giving. The Maples gave her a specially wrapped little package. I helped her unwrap it. Mr Maple had carved her special cutlery, cleverly designed to help her manage more efficiently. The spoon had a deep bowl to prevent spillage, the fork had clever prongs for easy spearing, and the knife had a curved handle so that Mother could grip it.

  She seized hold of her spoon and fork, wanting to try them out immediately, so Mrs Maple gave her another bowl of figgy pudding, even though she was already full to the brim.

  Of course, Mother had no presents to give the Maples in return, but Jem and I had done our best.

  Jem gave me several shillings from his farm wages and I bought them an ornament at the market – a little china model of a house, not unlike their own, with a little lumpy extra bacon room beside the chimney. There was a message written carefully across the plinth: Bless This House.

  I’d wanted to find something special for Janet too, because she had been such a dear friend, so I bought her a special pen. It was a fine one, with a green mottled casing, and I rather wanted it for myself, but I decided to be generous.

  The Maples were very satisfyingly pleased with their presents. Janet hugged me hard and said she would use her beautiful pen every day and think of me.

  ‘Then at least your journal will have variety,’ I said. ‘You can write Today I got up – and I love my friend Hetty!’

  Jem and Mother and I had kept our presents to give to each other at the Maples’. I didn’t want to fob Mother off with yet another nightgown. I bought her a new china washing jug and bowl, white with pink babies playing all around the inside. There was also a matching chamber pot, though it seemed a shame to piddle on the little children. I kept the pot at home because it might have been embarrassing unwrapping it in company.

  I couldn’t wait for Jem to open his present from me. Market Jim had let me have an end roll of scarlet worsted because it had a flaw running through the weave. I cut it out carefully on the slant and avoided the flaw altogether. I’d made it into a waistcoat with pockets and brass buttons.

  ‘Oh, I say!’ said Jem, going as red as the cloth when he unwrapped the waistcoat. ‘I shall look a right robin redbreast! Oh, Hetty, it’s the finest waistcoat I’ve ever seen. I shall wear it every Sunday.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s too bright?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘Not at all – the brighter the better,’ said Jem, though I’m not entirely sure he was being truthful.

  ‘Try your waistcoat on, Jem!’ said Janet.

  ‘Yes, do – I need to see if it fits properly,’ I said.

  ‘I probably won’t be able to get the buttons done up because I’ve had so much Christmas dinner,’ said Jem – but they slid easily into place. Although it sounds dreadfully like boasting, his waistcoat looked magnificent. Even taciturn Mr Maple murmured that it was a tremendous fit.

  ‘But I wish I knew what the time was,’ I said excitedly.

  They all stared at me. The Maples’ brass clock was ticking steadily on the mantelpiece.

  ‘I’d like to check the time,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t anyone else have a timepiece, Jem? Don’t gentlemen keep a pocket watch about their person?’

  ‘You know very well I don’t have a pocket watch, Hetty,’ said Jem.

  ‘Not even in your fine new waistcoat?’ I said. ‘Why don’t you check the pockets?’

  Jem stared at me, and then slid his fingers into the slim pocket at the front. His hand felt something. His mouth fell open as he drew out a gold fob watch. It wasn’t real gold, it was pinchbeck, and it wasn’t brand new. I’d seen it on a curiosity stall in the market and I’d bargained hard for it. It was truly a pretty ordinary watch and it didn’t even have a chain, but Jem cradled it in his hand as if it were part of the crown jewels.

  ‘Oh, Hetty,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, Hetty!’

  ‘Do you like it? I thought it was time you had a watch. Now you haven’t any excuse to be late home and keep supper waiting,’ I joked.

  ‘I’ve never had such a splendid present,’ said Jem. ‘Thank you so much. Thank you so very, very much. Oh dear, I wish I’d got you something as special.’ He handed me a tiny parcel apologetically.

  I felt it carefully. ‘Is it . . . jewellery?’ I asked, my heart beating fast.

  Janet gave a little gasp. ‘Oh, Hetty, open it!’

  I picked the paper open and saw a little necklace. It was a silver sixpence with a hole bored into it so that it could hang on a dainty silver chain. ‘Oh, Jem, it’s lovely!’ I whispered, putting it round my neck and fumbling with the clasp.