A Merry Little Christmas. Julia Williams
course he does,’ said Jean. ‘But if you do go there, he’s going to miss you.’
‘I don’t think I’m going to get in anyway,’ said Steven gloomily. ‘I’ve been practising with Marianne, and the tests are really difficult.’
‘I’m sure you’ll do fine,’ said Jean, ‘and if you don’t get in, it’s not the end of the world. You can go to Hope Sadler School with your friends.’
‘But I don’t want to go to school with them,’ Steven burst out miserably. ‘Apart from George, they all take the mickey out of my singing. And it’s what I want to do more than anything.’
Steven sounded so miserable, Marianne’s heart contracted. Poor poor thing. She and Gabe had been so caught up in their worries about losing him they hadn’t stopped to consider properly how Steven felt.
Feeling she’d eavesdropped enough, Marianne called out, ‘Hi, I’m home,’ and entered the kitchen. She really wanted to go and give Steven a hug, but thinking it would be hard to explain without giving away the fact that she’d been listening, just grinned at him instead, and said, ‘Good day?’
‘It was okay,’ he grunted.
‘And how have the twins been?’
‘Fine,’ said Jean, ‘no trouble at all. You know how much I love looking after my grandchildren.’
The twins sat in their highchairs smiling at her, their faces covered in dinner.
‘You sure about that?’ laughed Marianne and went to give each of them a sticky cuddle. It was difficult with two not to feel guilty that she might be favouring one above the other, so cuddles were on a strict rotation. Sometimes she thought she was being a bit bonkers. After all would sixteen-month-olds even notice? But she wanted to be fair.
‘Here, let me clean up,’ said Marianne, starting to load the twins’ dinner plates in the dishwasher. She was glad that when they’d revamped their kitchen she’d persuaded Gabriel to buy both a new dishwasher and washing machine. Both had had their work cut out since the babies had been born.
‘Have a cup of tea, first,’ said Jean pulling up a kitchen chair. ‘I insist. It’s a long day that you work.’
‘And I couldn’t do it without you,’ said Marianne, immensely grateful that her mother-in-law provided her with the support to allow her some of her old life at least. She loved the twins dearly, but she also loved her job. She’d thought at first she was lucky to be able to have both, but Mrs Garratt was certainly making it harder to feel like that. Marianne was getting fed up with the snide little comments about pulling her weight. More often than not, she was one of the last to leave work, just to prove a point. Often she wondered if it were worth it.
Ten minutes later, while Marianne and Jean were sitting at the table having a cup of tea, each with a baby on their laps, Gabe walked in cuddling something in his arms. It was a newborn lamb.
‘The mother died,’ he said. ‘Found this little chap in the fields, baaing away. He’s nearly frozen to death. Steven, do you want to keep him?’
Steven, who had been assiduously working on one of the test papers, looked at his dad in disdain. ‘No, I don’t,’ he said, ‘I think pet lambs are babyish.’
‘Steven–’ said Jean, but he’d got up and walked out.
Marianne looked at Gabe, wishing she could take the hurt away from his face.
‘He’ll get over it,’ she said. ‘He’s just trying to find his way at the moment.’
Gabriel didn’t say anything, but set about making a home in a cardboard box by the fire for the lamb, while Marianne cleared the rest of the dinner away, and Jean sorted the twins out.
The evening wore away, and by the time Jean had gone home, the twins were settled in bed, the washing-up done, and the lamb comfy in his new home, it was gone eight-thirty and there had been no sign of Steven.
‘He’s being picked on at school, you know,’ said Marianne carefully. Gabriel was so sensitive about the whole choir school thing, she had learnt to tread warily when discussing it, lest he fly off the handle.
‘Is he? About what?’
‘His singing,’ said Marianne. ‘I overheard him telling your mum. I can’t say I’m surprised really. There are some tough little cookies in Year 6, and Steven’s so sensitive. I’m surprised no one’s mentioned it to me. That’s one of the problems being part time, I’m out of the loop.’
‘Oh,’ said Gabriel. ‘Now I feel even worse, thanks.’
‘He just wants you to be happy about his choices,’ said Marianne. ‘Go up and tell him it’s okay. That you’re fine about him trying out for choir school.’
‘Even if I’m not?’ said Gabriel.
‘Even if you’re not,’ said Marianne firmly. ‘It’s not about us, it’s about him. If that’s what Steven wants, we should back him all the way.’
Ten minutes later, Gabriel and Steven were downstairs, both wreathed in identical smiles. Marianne warmed at the sight of them. Her two lovely boys, so alike and yet so different. She hated to see them at odds with each other. They were so close normally.
‘Can I feed the new lamb?’ said Steven.
‘Of course,’ said Marianne, and sent him to fetch a bottle of milk.
‘Well that went well,’ said Marianne. ‘What on earth did you say to him?’ she whispered.
‘I said I didn’t mind if he goes to that school, so long as I can get us a season ticket for Shrewsbury Wanderers, and come and take him to the football once a month.’
‘Bribery will get you everywhere,’ laughed Marianne softly.
‘Well it worked.’ Gabriel nudged her and they watched Steven across the room gently pick the lamb up and give him some milk. Not so grown up after all.
Pippa felt extraordinarily self-conscious. She’d arranged a meeting for all the families in the area affected by the proposed loss of respite services at the Sunshine Trust. She hadn’t been sure whether anyone would come – parents of special needs children were often stretched to the hilt. Who had time to fight the system even further? And while she had been involved in numerous campaigns, from helping set up the communal village shop, to fighting for a safe crossing by the children’s school, this was different. This was her call. She’d started the ball rolling, and she was going to have to deliver.
Pippa looked around at the hugely expectant faces, all waiting to hear what she had to say. They were relying on her, all these people, to help keep the Sunshine Trust respite services open to give them the lifeline they so desperately needed. It felt like an awesome responsibility. She couldn’t bear it if she failed them.
‘Hallo, and thanks so much for coming,’ she said. ‘I know lots of you have come a long way’ – Shropshire being a big county, the majority of people who used the respite centre came from far and wide – ‘We’re here today to set up a campaign to try and protect our services. All of us who use the Sunshine Trust know what a vital resource it is for families to gain much-needed respite. The issue isn’t so much about the centre closing, but the withdrawal of the respite care which is funded by local government. We need to find a way of paying for these services by alternative means. So to start with I’d say beg, borrow and steal from everyone you know. If you have links with local businesses, let’s see if we can’t get them to pledge some help.’
‘What about lottery money?’ someone said.
‘We’re applying for a grant,’ said Pippa.
‘And telethon charities, like Children in Need or Red Nose Day?’ said someone else.
‘Good idea,’ said Pippa, ‘but we want this to be sustainable