The Christmas Angel

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Authors: Marcia Willett
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the lower oven and begins to fill them with porridge. He watches Janna put four bowls on the tray with a jug of milk and carry them into the refectory; Mother Magda follows her. The toast pops up; four pieces in the long silver toaster and, as he stands beside his chair, the room grows brighter and is suddenly filled with light; long fingers of sunshine reach through the windows and touch the flowers and the pebbles.
    Janna comes back. She fills a bowl with porridge for him, mixes it with some cold milk, sprinkles sugar over it and puts it at his place. He scrambles onto his chair, still watching her as she puts the toast into the rack. She is like nobody else he’s ever known, with her wild lion hair and thin brown face and bright strange clothes. Beside the elderly sober-clad nuns she is vivid and exciting. Today she’s wrapped herself in the apron that has words printed on it: ‘SAVE WATER. DRINK WINE.’ She’d read them to him and even then he hadn’t understood, but Sister Emily said, ‘Now I think that is such a good idea.’ And they laughed together, silently, bending close , with Sister Emily’s wrinkled, thin hand on Janna’s warm, strong arm. Sister Ruth came in and paused, looking at them both, her chin high and forbidding, and Janna moved away, still smiling secretly to herself.
    Now she turns suddenly, holding the toast rack, and catches his stare.
    ‘OK, my lover?’ she asks, and there’s a tenderness in her voice and in her look that makes him feel a bit odd: shaky and upset, and wanting to run over to her and bury his face in the warmth of her body and snuff up the scents of her skin. He has a little pain in his chest, as though something is missing, that he’s lost something really important, and he wants to hold on to Janna. He feels as if he might cry and, as if she understands, she puts the toast on the table and comes swiftly round to him. She kneels beside his chair and puts her arms round him, and he buries his face in her warm breast and cries without knowing why, although Daddy has explained that it happens because he lost Mummy just after he was born and it’s all quite natural and nothing to be worried about, and that Daddy feels the same way too, sometimes.
    Gently Janna smooths his hair and wipes his cheeks with her fingers. ‘Poor Stripey Bunny needs some porridge,’ she whispers to him. ‘Poor old Stripes. He’s all thin, look.’ And she squeezes his middle so that he flops about and looks funny, and Jakey manages a smile and takes up his spoon. And then Daddy comes in saying how cold it is and they’ll build a snowman after breakfast, and suddenly everything is quite all right again.
    Clem eats his porridge gratefully. He knows he’s lucky that the Sisters are prepared to stretch a point with Jakey so that he is allowed into certain parts of the house and the grounds as long as he is quiet and good. It had to be part of the contract and Mother Magda was quick to see that there needed to be a readiness to adapt on both sides. It’s odd, actually, how readily Jakey has accepted convent life. He seems to understand the reverence required and even enjoy it. Of course, he got used to going to church in London but even so it’s a great deal to ask of a small boy. He remembers, when he brought Jakey to be introduced to the Sisters, how Sister Emily shook his hand and then asked to be introduced to Stripey Bunny.
    ‘How do you do, Mr Stripey Bunny,’ she said gravely, shaking his paw, and Jakey gazed at her for a moment in surprise, and then they chuckled together, sharing the joke. Mother Magda laughed too, and took Stripey Bunny’s paw but Sister Ruth watched with her hands hidden in her sleeves, not reacting when Jakey looked hopefully towards her, inviting her to share in the game. Clem could tell by her expression and body language that here was a woman who feared any kind of loss of control; who instinctively disliked any relaxation of the rules. He stiffened a little,

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