The Yuletide Child

‘Dylan. I’m Dylan Jefferson.’

‘That’s an unusual name—Dylan,’ Ruth said, hanging the coat in her hallway to drip on to the tiled floor. ‘I thought it was a man’s name. Welsh, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Welsh. It means up from the sea...’ Dylan couldn’t stop shivering. ‘My mother was Welsh.’

Poor girl, she looked as if she was about to give birth any minute, and Ruth did not want her doing it here. She wouldn’t have a clue how to help. The very prospect raised goosebumps on her skin.

‘And there’s that poet...’

‘Dylan Thomas. Yes, that’s why she chose that name. She was hoping for a boy, but I arrived, and she had been thinking of me as Dylan, so she decided to keep the name.’

Pushing the girl down on to a chair right in front of the range, and kneeling down beside her, Ruth began to take off her shoes and socks. Imagine coming out on a day like this without boots!

‘Oh...’ she muttered in dismay, as the second sock came off and she saw the sprained ankle, the flesh swollen and very tender, an angry red. ‘Oh, dear, this looks painful—did you do this in the crash? You don’t have any other injuries, do you?’

‘Nothing serious,’ the girl said, leaning towards the heat of the range.

Ruth could see some of them: mostly cuts and bruises on face, hands, neck, which she had noticed when she first saw the girl. It could have been worse. Dylan had been lucky.

‘I’ll ring my doctor and get him to come out and take a look at you.’ Henry would find a bed for the girl in the maternity hospital. At this time of year there were surely not many local women having babies!

The kettle was boiling, filling the kitchen with steam. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea. Now, don’t put your feet too near the grate; you don’t want chilblains.’

Ruth busied herself making tea, covered the pot with her old knitted cosy and got out two large bright yellow mugs. But before she poured the tea she decided to ring Henry. That was when she discovered that there was no dialling tone.

Her heart sank. She put the phone back, tried again. Still nothing. The phone was as dead as a doornail.

Dylan was watching her anxiously. ‘Are the lines down? That was what I was afraid of this morning. Snow always brings the phone lines down where I live.’

Ruth forced a smile, trying to sound reassuring. ‘We do have a problem with it here, too. They’ll soon have the break mended; they always do. Let’s have a cup of tea then I’ll try again.’

If she couldn’t ring Henry she would have to put this girl into her car and take her to the village. Ruth’s home was right on the outer edge of Stonelee, at least a twenty-minute drive to Henry’s house, with a sharp drop downward followed by a steep hill rising to the village. Not an easy drive in any weather, it would certainly be difficult, if not downright dangerous, with a blizzard raging.

‘Would you like something to eat?’

‘I’m not hungry.’ The girl folded her hands around the mug of tea and sipped, eyes closed. Ruth had put three spoonfuls of sugar in; if anyone had ever needed blood sugar it was this girl.

‘Have a slice of toast,’ Ruth coaxed. ‘You aren’t in any pain, are you?’

Dylan laughed huskily. ‘Don’t encourage me to be a hypochondriac! I’ve had little aches and pains every day for weeks; I think my body is allergic to pregnancy. I never even had a headache when I was dancing.’

Ruth looked surprised. ‘You were a dancer? What sort of dancing?’

‘Ballet.’ Dylan sipped her hot tea gratefully.

Eyes brightening, Ruth said, ‘I used to love going to the ballet when I lived in London, but I haven’t been for years now. I had to move back up here to look after my mother, after my father died. She had a stroke, which meant giving up my job, of course, and my flat in London.’ She stopped dead, wondering why she was telling this stranger so much about herself. She rarely talked to anyone about her personal life. This girl didn’t want to hear her life story!

‘And you miss it,’ Dylan breathed with eager sympathy. ‘I know just how you feel—I’m a Londoner, I only moved up here in the spring, and I still haven’t got used to living miles from anywhere. I miss dancing, and all my friends and the audiences, and... But it’s city life I miss the most. There’s always something to do, theatres, cafés, and you’re surrounded by all those other people. You can jump on a bus or a tube train and go across town in no time.’

‘Yes, that’s the joy of London.’ Ruth smiled at her. ‘Do you live near here?’

‘No, we live close to the borders, just below Hadrian’s Wall. I was on my way to visit my sister; she lives a few miles from here.’

That reminded her. She glanced at the phone on the wall. ‘I wish I could ring her to let her know what’s happened—she’ll be worried. I wonder if it has been reconnected yet?’

‘I’ll try again.’ Ruth got up and lifted the phone. Dylan read her ex

pression and sighed.