Christmas Wishes Read Online Free PDF

miss their mother and had intended, at first, to sell their small house and move. On one of his rare visits to the farm he had put the suggestion forward, only to have it indignantly refuted by both girls. ‘We like to be near the fire station and we can scarcely remember the house anyway, so it won’t make us think of Mummy more than anywhere else would,’ Gillian had said. ‘Please, please don’t make us move again, Daddy. We know the neighbours and the shops and the park; why should we have to get used to somewhere different?’
    So Alex had complied with their wishes, though he had had a bath and lavatory installed in the boxroom and repainted the kitchen and living room. He was glad now that he had not tried to move house, for every room in No. 77 held memories of Bridget and with the passage of time he had grown to value those memories, all happy ones. He was sure that the twins, too, if they remembered their lives before the war at all, would feel the same, for his Bridget had been a young woman, always smiling, with a great sense of humour.
    Now, Alex left his bedroom and crossed to the bathroom, looking around him with pleasure, trying to see it as the twins would do. The bright blue linoleum matched the blue of the curtains at the window, and when he turned the tap and ignited the geyser hot water gushed into the hand basin. Alex grinned to himself; great to have hot water for shaving without the bother of boiling a kettle in the kitchen and carrying it upstairs. Of course the twins would not have to consider shaving, but at thirteen they probably considered themselves young ladies and would appreciate instant hot water.
    Alex finished shaving and dressed in his best: a white shirt, a Fair Isle pullover and dark grey trousers. Then he headed for the stairs. In the kitchen he made himself toast and tea and ate and drank quickly, thinking about the day ahead.
    Alex had been preparing for his daughters’ return for weeks and would be off to the station to meet their train in half an hour. Now he stood, eyeing the kitchen table with considerable pleasure. He had been determined to greet his children with a wonderful celebration tea, but he was no cook and certainly would not have dared to use precious ingredients in an attempt to bake something fancy himself; for the past few years he had lived on fish and chips and shop-bought bread, cakes and pies.
    To make today special, however, he had been prepared to go to any lengths and had sought help from Cyril Clarke’s widow, a notable cook and a cheerful, energetic little woman. She had no children of her own, but she often babysat for young mothers who wanted a break from their offspring, and always asked after the twins when she and Alex met. Mrs Clarke lived in the end house of Alex’s terrace, and despite the fact that before Cyril’s death the two men had been good friends he did not know her very well, although he always stopped for a few words when he came across her, either going to the shops or exercising the fat, evil-tempered pug which she had taken on after its owner had been killed in the May blitz. The pug was named Dilly and though Mrs Clarke had never owned a dog before, and disliked pugs in general and Dilly in particular, she was too soft-hearted to let the animal be destroyed and now shared her home – and her rations – with the pop-eyed, irritable creature.
    At work one day, a couple of weeks before the twins were due to come home, Alex had voiced his desire for some real home cooking so that his girls would have a grand homecoming and one of the young firemen had suggested that he should approach Mrs Clarke. ‘She’s a rare cook, and if you give her the flour and that she’ll make whatever you want,’ the young man had assured him. ‘She’s ever so nice, Mrs Clarke, honest to God she is. I reckon she’d be happy to help. My mam always calls her the good Samaritan because of the way she rescued that perishin’ pug. You go round there,