“How many bottles?”
“Sixty.”
“And they say Santa Claus is make-believe,” Martha murmured.
It was impossible not to get caught up in the festive atmosphere, even though Martha had intended to make her excuses and slip away before the dancing started. She’d never heard of the mazurka, but by Christmas afternoon she knew all the moves. Her teacher was the leader of blockhouse three—a sprightly gentleman with a white beard, who told her he had been a ballet dancer for Victoria. After politely turning down his offer to teach her the polka next, she made a beeline for Delphine, who had found a seat in a corner of the mess hall.
“Has he worn you out?” Delphine said, as Martha flopped down beside her.
“I didn’t realize I was so unfit,” Martha groaned. “He said he’d danced for Queen Victoria—which must make him about a hundred years old!”
Delphine laughed. “Well, he doesn’t seem tired at all. It looks like he’s asking one of the sewing ladies. Oh, look out—here come the lovebirds!”
Kitty’s cheeks were almost as red as her dress as she sat down to recover from dancing. Martha thought Charlie looked uncomfortable standing beside her, as if he were embarrassed at them knowing he and Kitty were an item.
“I’ve asked him to take a photo of the three of us,” Kitty said. She delved into her bag and pulled out Charlie’s camera.
“If we’re going to pose, we’d better all have some of this.” Delphine poured out generous measures of whiskey. “Come on, girls—raise your glasses.”
“Merry Christmas!”
“Joyeux No?l!”
“Frohe Weihnachten!”
The flash left red blobs in front of Martha’s eyes. Charlie took another, just to be sure. Then he said he’d better check that everything was okay at the warehouse. He shot a look at Kitty, which she returned with the almost imperceptible arch of an eyebrow. Martha tried not to smile. They were trying so hard to hide the fact that they were crazy about each other—and doing a terrible job of it. She hoped that Kitty knew enough about men to be sensible. She’d never hinted to Martha at how far things had gone with Fred. Growing up without anyone to guide her, she must have learned about sex from the factory girls she worked with. Charlie seemed like a nice guy. But Martha had thought the same about Arnie in the early days. Should she take her to one side and have a word with her about men?
Glancing across the table at Kitty, it seemed a ridiculous notion. She looked so glamorous and self-assured: a young woman who knew how to take care of herself and would probably burst out laughing if anyone tried to warn her about the risks of falling head over heels in love. But there was a brittleness about her smile. She never complained, but the snow stopping the mail from coming in must have been driving her crazy. Today of all days, her parents would have to be on her mind. Martha hoped that she wouldn’t go overboard with the drinking as a way of blotting out the heartache. It would be all too easy for a man to take advantage of her in that state.
“You need a top-up.” Delphine was reaching over with the bottle. “What shall we drink to this time?”
Martha put her hand over the rim. She was already starting to feel a bit woozy.
“To . . . life!” Kitty raised her glass.
“To life!” Delphine clinked her glass against each of the others. “A year ago, I couldn’t have drunk a toast to that. There seemed no point in going on living.” She took a sip of her drink. “It’s not the same life—but it’s a meaningful life. Thank you both, for helping me get there.”
It was still light when Martha and Delphine went outside for some fresh air. There was a path through the trees where the snow had been trodden down when the DPs had gone out collecting branches to decorate the camp.
“I’m getting wet feet.” Delphine giggled. “I forgot I was wearing these shoes!”
Martha glanced down at her own feet. She was so used to wearing the stout army-issue boots that had come with her uniform. It was the first time she’d put on a pair of her own shoes since the weddings last summer.
“Oh, look!” Delphine half walked, half slithered to a clearing in the trees. “The roses are still there!”
Martha made her way across to where Delphine was standing. There was part of a crumbling wall in the clearing—the remains of a building even more ruined than the one Stefan had taken her to. The vines growing against the wall consisted of little more than a tangle of gnarled branches dusted with snow, but a few withered roses were still attached.