CHAPTER 33
We spent an hour or so at the memorial, as a cold wind blasted in off the sea, the weathervane quivering like a nervous dog.

Alice, Enid and Mam all went for the headscarf style, but I prefer more modern kit like fleece hats. For a start, they are warmer. As part of his new kit, we had bought Jim a winter cycling hat and gloves and, well, he had the full set on.

Dad was quite sobered by the place. I mean, he wasn’t old enough to remember the War, but he had grown up surrounded by the wreckage and damaged lives it had left in its wake.

“This is a good place, Sarah. It’s good that we remember those boys”

“There’s a funny story about that, Dad. The Daily Telegraph had a hissy fit a few years ago, ‘why is there no memorial to the Battle of Britain’, and someone mentioned this place, and they harrumphed and said ‘yes, but there should be one in London!’. That’s when Croydon council told them there was one, at the original London airport–in Croydon”

“Does dim byd ar glawr, ac eithrio Llundain” (There is nothing at all in existence…except for London). I understood his bitterness there. Even the people of East Kent felt the capital assumed it was the only part of the country in which anything important or worthwhile happened. Living at the very end of the road West, it felt even worse. I moved the conversation on before he became even more bitter, and led him to the cliff edge, where we could see across to the solid lump of Cap Blanc Nez. At home, we could look out to sea, just like this, but not as far as a foreign land.

Elaine and her wife were with Tony, keeping an eye on Jim, who was in standard small-boy mode, running around with his arms out being an aeroplane and making dakka-dakka noises as he strafed Tony and the girls. The three old biddies were doing a biddy walk around the memorial, headscarves cinched tight and probably discussing knitting patterns and Delia’s latest cook book, and it was lovely how Alice was so naturally herself with her peers. As Dad and I stood near the drop, I remembered with a shiver what she had admitted to Queen Bitch about standing at the top of the next cliff to the East.

Dad must have felt my shudder. “Beth syn bod, cariad? What’s up?”

“It’s Alice, Dad. She admitted to me a little while ago that she had got so depressed that, well….she came up near here more than once and stood at the edge and, well…she says she was too much of a coward.”

“She doesn’t look like much of a coward to me. I said she was like you when I met her. You were no coward, not when you came in to us that night in a bloody dress and high heels”

“It was a suit, Dad. And I was a coward, I hid for all these years”

“Yes, love, but you stayed true to yourself. You never stepped back. I thought I had decided to tolerate your change, but I was still proud of you, proud of both my strong, clever daughters. Now I see you with Jim, and I see and hear your Mam in you, and it all clicks, it all fits together. This is who you were meant to be”

He started to laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“Well, when you told Jim to put the chocolate away, you didn’t just remind me of your Mam, you reminded me of MY Mam, and you were almost as scary!”

Back to the cars before everyone got cold, and I started in on preparations. The turkey had gone in before we left, so it was time for serious spud-peeling and sprout-crossing. I cook my stuffing separately, so we had a tray of chestnut as well as one of the traditional sage and onion, plus cranberry sauce, pigs in blankets and Yorkshire puddings. The oven was jammed. There weren’t enough rings, so I was using a three-stack steamer, and as the kitchen filled with steam and peelings I decided that someone else could take a turn the next year. I had the biddies with me, of course, the men and the happy couple instructed to clear off, play games and set the table. Two biddies were doing a dish wash relay, while the other did gravy and so on, but by this time they had blurred into generic older ladies. This was hard work.

Finally, though, it was done, plated, carved, served and demolished. This time, the boys were left to rinse things and load the dishwasher while we allowed the first course to settle. Pudding would follow later, when we regained the ability to move.

After the cheating pudding (Microwaved. Sue me) we settled down to the obligatory Bond film, and vegetated happily in our seats. Life was good.

And that was our Christmas Day. It didn’t end there, of course. We got through a sizeable quantity of liquid, and when the beer and wine had settled, Tony got out a malt, this time Highland Park, and we compared our presents.

If I say there was nothing special, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t special at all. What I mean is that the presents were low key and well chosen, things like toiletries, clothing, books and so on. It didn’t matter, as a family we understood the expense of the travel needed to get there, as well as that of catering for a houseful. My third most important present was having what was indeed becoming one family all together under my roof.. My second most important was on the third finger of my left hand.

The most important was lying in his little den asleep after a story, this time from Nana Sioned. I had bought him a set of the Harry Potter books, and he was now sleeping ‘just like Harry’. I realised I would have problems getting him back to his room when they all left. Just before Tony and I went off, I had a little chat with Alice in the kitchen as she put away some of the clean dishes from the washer.

“How goes it, Alice?”

She smiled, and gave me a little one-armed hug. “Couldn’t be better. They’re both treating me so well, it’s like it’s Christmas or something.”

I laughed. “What do you want to do on Boxing Day, love?”

“I thought it would be nice to show them the city. I can let us into the delivery area if the car parks are full, and if we avoid the big shops it shouldn’t be too crowded.”

“You sure you are OK being in such a busy area?”

She knew what I meant. The more time she spent with her new friend at the Marlowe, and with Enid, the easier and more natural her appearance became as just another mature lady. The fact that she was always surrounded by family also helped public perception, as I think there must have been some sort of hindbrain kneejerk reaction. Nah, can’t be a tranny, got a grandkid.

So, after another mammoth breakfast, which had me checking the size of my arse, we squeezed everybody into two cars and set off for work. Alice let us into the delivery area, the shop actually being closed for Christmas, We headed off over to Burgate for starters, and my parents started the round of ‘This is us at…’ photographs. Jim was in his new walking boots this time. Trainers for a cliff top walk, boots for a city centre. Kids.

There was some event going on at the cathedral, so we contented ourselves with a stroll in the grounds before heading back along Mercery to the High Street. It’s a sad fact about British towns and cities, but if you don’t raise your eyes you could be anywhere at all. The corporate image has taken over, and almost all shops now consist of that plate-glass identical company presentation, soulless and void of local flavour. Lift your eyes, though, and suddenly the old city is there, in the rooflines and old windows that don’t form part of the need for conformity.

Canterbury isn’t as bad as most, with a lot of listed historical buildings that the law protects from bastardisation, and the library is spectacular, as is the Cathedral Gate, but it has a few things that drag it down in the other direction, that of twee ‘heritage’

A mock ducking stool by the Weaver’s House, for one, and the ‘Canterbury Tales Visitor Attraction’. There are two words that chill my soul in these places. One is ‘Attraction’, and the other is ‘Experience’. Canterbury survives all that, though, with the resilience that 2,000 years of history bring to a place. I still wished I had that T-shirt, though.

We did the walk down to Westgate, then back up the other side to the bus station and I had to explain to Jim about the walls we were walking as we ambled round to Dane John, where there is an odd adventure playground made of wood. That killed an hour or so, as we more sedate individuals settled down onto some benches to await the return of the boys, despatched to buy coffee around the corner.

Jim was happy, the trio were happy, my parents were revelling in their new status as grandparents, Elaine and Siá¢n just seemed to be looking on fondly and smiling all the time, and Tony…

Tony oozed happiness and pride. I could almost hear him broadcasting to the world, ‘my boy, my woman, look on me you lower orders and weep with jealousy!’

Me, I was just content.

As we waited for the coffee run, my thoughts were derailed as someone sat down next to me.

“Hello, Sarah, before I put my foot in it, do you want to tell me what’s the thing with Alan over there?”

It was Andy.