❝ PICKET FENCE! ❞ → GRAY ✓

→ iii.ii

Act Three, Scene Two

→ ❝ nearly christmas eve! ❞

             1925 had been a mundane year, and Carol had found herself working every day. It was her mother's fault; she had heard Carol crying the morning that she lost it (Janet, no matter how Catholic she claimed to be, refused to acknowledge the foetus as a worthy creation of God), storming into her room with the perceived authority of an army general. Instead of comforting her daughter in the moment that she needed it the most, she screamed at her for her sin while her husband stood in the doorway, watching the event unfold. Even his frozen heart chipped a little when he saw the complete distress that his only child was in and how much his wife was laying into her. In his eyes, only God could judge Carol for such a reckless act, and he hoped she got exactly what was coming for her.

             Once she had calmed down (but not before she left a bright red handprint and small graze on the side of Carol's face), Janet gave Carol a week to get herself together before landing her in an apprenticeship at Mrs Ainsley's Seamstress and Tailor, where Carol would spend the next fifteen months sewing and embroidering and cutting out fabric day in, day out. Mrs Goodwin had tried to convince Carol that it was a good tool to take her mind off the sin that Michael Gray had imposed upon her (Carol scoffed; their love, their child was not a sin), but Carol secretly knew that it was because, this way, her mother would be able to keep close tabs on her every movement.

             The only 'best interests' that Janet Goodwin ever had in mind were her own.

             It was approaching half past two in the afternoon, and Carol hugged her arms a little tighter around her body as she walked through the village, sniffing as the cold, winter air bit at her cheeks and nose. Snow was beginning to fall from the clouds, and Carol smiled at the idea of a white Christmas, it reminded her of the first time Henry Johnson had ever told her that he loved her.

             Henry. Michael. Henry. Michael. Not a day had gone by when she didn't think of him, despite her mother's urges to forget the boy that strayed her down the dark path. She couldn't help it; nearly everything was a reminder of their life together, and the sad looks that Rosemary Johnson shot Carol every time she saw the girl were no help.

             Maybe her mother was right to forget the Shelby family. Carol hadn't received a single letter from any of the family (not Tommy, not Linda, not Polly, nobody), even after she sent one to them apologising for walking out so suddenly and hoping they would welcome her back if she tried. Whenever Carol asked if there was any post for her, Janet was quick to tell her not to waste time on people who didn't bother spending a second on her.

             "Hello, Carol!" William, Michael's younger brother who had a bright smile and innocent air about him, grinned as he saw the girl approaching her gate. He had stopped in the middle of a rather brutal snowball fight to wave her way, and shouted loudly when a clump of snow hit him square on the cheek. "It's nearly Christmas Eve!" he shouted with joy, and Carol couldn't help but giggle.

             "Good afternoon, Will!" she laughed, barely managing to duck out of the way of a snowball that came hurtling her way. It skimmed her beige hat and broke into pieces as it hit the gnome that stood faithfully in the Goodwin's front garden. Will was a polite boy that was blossoming into a young man, but was still as immature as the day he was born. "Merry nearly-Christmas Eve!"

             Stomping her shoes on the inside mat and shedding flakes of snow on the floor, Carol was hit with the scent of freshly baked gingerbread as she closed the door behind her, shutting out the cold December air.

             "Hello, Mama!" Carol called into the house, inhaling deeply. Christmastime always found a way of making her happy, no matter her situation. She poked her head around the door to the sitting room, and saw her father perched on his armchair, reading a newspaper. There was news about a union strike on the front that Carol knew he would have taken one look at, scoffed, and moved on, "Good afternoon, father."

             Edmund cleared his throat, his voice muffled behind the newspaper, "Good afternoon, Carol. How was work?"

             Carol shrugged (a habit that her father told her off for constantly), and began to rifle through the letters on the desk beside the front door, "Slow, I finished the embroidery on the hat, so Mrs Ainsley let me go home early. It's snowing, have you seen?"

             Janet didn't give her husband time to reply about the weather before she emerged from the kitchen, wiping her floured hands onto her apron, "What are you doing Carol?" she asked, tutting behind her daughter and raising an eyebrow disapprovingly.

             The young girl jumped slightly in surprise, her hand flying to her chest to slow her rapid heartbeat, "Mama, you frightened me!" she laughed nervously, twiddling her fingers together behind her back, "I was wondering if any post had come for me, that's all."

             "I've told you, Carol," Janet held her hand against her daughter's cheek, and Carol flinched away from her touch, "Forget about them, they obviously don't care about you or they would have written."

             Carol lowered her gaze guiltily (catching sight of the corner of an envelope stuffed into her apron pocket – it was unusually suspicious, what was she hiding?), worried about what her mother was going to say to her next. She didn't want to argue with her, not when it was so close to Christmas.

             Seeing her daughter's mood lower, Janet seemed to perk up, "Now, darling, you go on and warm yourself up by the fire. The afternoon post hasn't come yet, I'll bring anything for you through, along with a biscuit or two and a cuppa."

             Nodding as her mother placed a kiss on her forehead before turning on her heel and reverting back to the kitchen, Carol bent down and began to undo the buckles on her shoes, wiggling her toes to free them from freezing solid – if she had known it was going to snow that day, she would have worn thicker stockings. Just as she did so, a stack of papers were pushed through the letterbox as the afternoon mail arrived. Carol quickly pulled the letters all the way through the letterbox, cringing as the metal snapped shut again.

             "Was that the post?" Janet shouted from the kitchen, in an almost frenzied tone, "Carol? If that was the post I want to see it!"

             "No, Mama," she replied, quickly sorting through the letters. This was the first time in almost two years that she had been the first recipient of the post, and didn't believe that none of the Shelby family weren't sending her mail. "I just bumped into the door, that's all."

             Carol's hope dwindled when she saw that only one letter was addressed to her, and the return address was not for a person she was familiar with (it struck her as unusual that there was no return address at all, and that the cream envelope had an overseas stamp in the corner). Maybe her mother was right, maybe Carol was insignificant in the eyes of the Shelbys and Grays.

             With her shoes still on, Carol sat down on the bottom stair, anticipation getting the best of her. She hadn't had post (that wasn't from her immediate family) in months, and was eager to see what this entailed. She tore open the envelope (it was rather exciting that it had come all the way from America), opening the Christmas card that was tucked inside. She didn't recognise the penmanship or the name of the sender, but it was the large handprint on the right side of the card that caught her eye.

'Happy Christmas, Mrs Gray-To-Be

From Luca Changretta and family'