Page 52 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
‘Cancer?’ I ask.
Estelle nods. ‘Of the lungs. He dies quite a long, protracted death – which was one blessing.’
‘Estelle!’ Angela scolds gently. ‘That’s enough now.’
‘I’m sorry. But every time I see him it angers me.’
‘I know, but we’re here for the others this time, aren’t we?’ She looks over at Ben and me witnessing Estelle’s anger with surprise. ‘Let’s carry on with the story.’
Estelle nods. ‘I remember this particular evening very well – for many reasons.’
Estelle’s father has now sat down in one of the armchairs and picked up his newspaper. The front-page headlines readKing to Abdicate – Duke of York to ascend throne as George VI.
A young girl comes into the room wearing a long-sleeved red dress with white trim – it has boxy wide shoulders and is nipped in at the waist, extending into a mid-calf-length fitted skirt. Her dark hair is short, and perfectly coiffured into neat little waves held back with a diamanté clip.
‘Good evening, Estelle,’ Stephen says, making Ben and me jump, until we realise that Stephen is addressing a much younger Estelle who has just walked into the room.
‘Good evening, Father.’
Ben and I, not quite believing what we’re seeing, can’t keep our eyes off this new Estelle. She really is quite beautiful. Her dark hair only helps to frame her pale but perfect complexion, and her green eyes – always so knowing – are piercingly bright, like two emeralds sparkling in a priceless tiara.
‘How is your mother tonight?’ Stephen asks. ‘I assume you’ve been up to see her?’
‘I have, and she’s resting right now.’
Stephen doesn’t seem to find anything unusual in this.
‘Will she be making an appearance tonight?’ he asks. ‘I have some very important people coming over.’
‘I really couldn’t say,’ Estelle says in a high-pitched, well-educated voice, like the sort you hear in old black-and-white movies. ‘She looks very pale and is quite exhausted.’
‘Hmm … ’ Stephen says, turning the page of his newspaper. ‘We all get a little tired from time to time. But it seems to have become a permanent state for your mother.’
Young Estelle’s face darkens. I glance over at our Estelle and see her face has exactly the same expression.
‘Mother is ill – as you well know,’ Estelle says bravely. ‘She needs our help and understanding, not our blame.’
Stephen glares at her over the top of his paper. ‘It is not your place, Estelle, to cast aspersions over your parents’ relationship. I am fully aware of your mother’s problems.’ He straightens the pages of his newspaper and mumbles, ‘I’ve lived with them for long enough.’
The young Estelle has clearly heard all this before. She ignores her father and walks over to the Christmas tree where she moves a couple of the decorations around.
‘And why is that thing up so early this year?’ Stephen asks, watching her. ‘It’s only the eleventh of December.’
‘I thought it would be nice for Mother to have it up early. Rudy helped us get it from the market and Holly helped me to decorate it this afternoon.’
‘Far too early,’ Stephen grumbles, lifting his newspaper again.
‘Will you be listening to the King’s abdication speech tonight, Father?’ Estelle enquires, walking back over to the centre of the room. She glances at her reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece, but doesn’t seem particularly pleased by what she sees.
‘I expect so,’ Stephen says, not moving from behind his pages. ‘Damn ridiculous if you ask me. Three kings this country’s had in the space of twelve months. Three kings in one year must be some record.’
‘If the government had allowed the King to marry Mrs Simpson it wouldn’t be happening,’ Estelle says, perching neatly opposite her father on the edge of one of the armchairs. ‘Why shouldn’t you be able to marry the person you love?’
Stephen lowers his newspaper and regards Estelle. ‘He’s our king, for goodness’ sake. He should do what’s best for the country. If the government say he can’t marry a divorcée then that is that. There are rules, Estelle, and sometimes you have to step up and do what’s right.’
‘Even if that’s not what your heart desires?’ Estelle asks, and I get the feeling she might not just be talking about the outgoing king.
Stephen stares at Estelle for a moment. ‘In my experience, often what the heart desires is not what’s best in the long run. Your brain will usually tell you much more than your heart ever will.’
