‘Okay, okay,’ she said.
‘Now remind me,’ said Sofia, looking tired but happy as she headed downstairs. ‘Remind me how many are we on the day?’
‘Isn’t Mum doing this?’
‘Just let me over-organise, please, sis; helps my stress levels.’
‘But if I do it, we get to watch ChristmasTop of the Pops.’
The children looked at her, their faces confused.
‘Pop music. You’re going to love it.’
‘Carmen!’
‘And Frosties. Come on. Let’s have Frosties on Christmas Day. In fact, let’s stay in our pyjamasall day. Andno bassoon.’
‘Go! To! Work!’ said Sofia, but she was smiling really.
There was an even larger crowd than usual now the school holidays had started, and Carmen opened an old book, the most expensive they had to sell, and told them the story of the animals turning silent on the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve, and the children’s eyes were wide, and there was silence, and at the end everyone got a very small chocolate Santa and went home happy.
As the families dispersed, there were two tall people still standing at the door.
‘We go tomorrow,’ said the German woman. ‘We just thought we should try. One more time … ’
Carmen gripped Mr McCredie’s hand tight and, nodding numbly, he turned the shop sign to closed, and took them upstairs.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said. ‘Would you like tea?’
‘Oh Carmen,’ said Mr McCredie in a quavery voice. ‘Please stay.’
So she did.
They had found the papers clearing out their grandfather’s house – letters from the POW camp, from his youngest brother Erich, describing the conditions – and a nurse, Marian, who worked there. Mr McCredie’s mother.
‘I will show you the letters, of course,’ said the woman. ‘Although there are some parts you may not want to read.’
Mr McCredie sat there, listening.
‘I think,’ she added, ‘I think they were very much in love. He was very young.’
‘How young?’
‘Seventeen.’
Mr McCredie took a sharp intake of breath.
‘Goodness.’
‘He was on a U-boat, patrolling the North Sea. Just a boy. He was conscripted, late in the war … ’
Mr McCredie looked numb, his pale eyes staring out of the window.
‘What happened to him?’ said Carmen, when it was clear Mr McCredie didn’t know how to ask.
‘Oh,’ said the woman. ‘He was returned by the British, and shot as a spy.’
‘You’re kidding.’
