A CHRISTMAS STORY

Catherine stood in the doorway entrance, as she took in the poignant scene a few yards from her. One could hardly grace the area with the title garden, it was a rather unsightly concrete rectangle, surrounded by high brick walls. Practical, rather than a thing of beauty. A storage area for trash cans,useful to tenants in earlier days, before the landlord had died and years of legal wrangling over who owned it, had since seen the building fall first into disrepair, then eventually, disuse. But the sun did reach one corner, tucked between the walls of the yard and the house sheltered from the worst of the weather. Here she could see her husband crouched, with one knee on the ground, a forearm supported on the other. An oblique ray of the early-morning sun lit his profile, caught the fiery, golden highlights of his glorious mane, and cast a shadow onto the wall beside him. Vincent was so still, he hardly seemed to breathe. Slowly he raised his hand to reverently cup the single bud on the tiny Bush. Catherine swallowed hard as the sun glinted on a tear making its way over the high cheekbone, to be lost in the velvet fur of his face. It was far too late in the year for a rose to bloom - nearly Christmas, for heaven's sake! And a less hospitable site for such a plant would be difficult to imagine. One of the children had found it, discarded, half dead and brought it to Vincent during the weeks of fevered activity to restore the basement and ground floor to a habitable condition. He had lifted a couple of square yards of concrete, spent time and energy out of all proportion, digging down several feet into the rock hard soil, removing a great pile of rubble and replacing it with sack after sack of manure compost and leaf mould. After forking in a handful of bone meal, he had carefully firmed in the roots before pruning the sad remnants of top growth, just above what Vincent referred to as healthy buds. How many hours of reading he had done before undertaking this project no one knew. Catherine had dreaded his disappointment, should the plant die, but come the spring, fragile leaves had unfurled, bronze red at first, turning green as they hardened. Glossy, healthy, exciting shoots, which filled Vincent with wonder each time, he went into the yard. He knew that such a young small bush was unlikely to flower until it matured, perhaps not for several years, he had said, so the bud had been an unlooked for joy. At last, a few days ago, tiny cracks allowed him to see the petals, thin lines of pink. His rose would be pink. Now, this morning it had burst and the petals were just starting to unfurl. He took his hand away and leaned over to catch the scent more fully. Catherine heard his deep intake of breath, then he called to her quietly to come and see. Do you have a vase, which could be suitable Catherine? He asked, one which I may have, rather than borrow? Surprised that he would want to cut the bloom, she offered to buy a vase for him, when shops opened. I wish to make a gift for Mary, he explained. Oh yes! She will be so thrilled, she told him. The thought crossed her mind. She was hesitant, but maybe yes it felt right. She clasped his hand and tugged him. I need your help for minute. Vincent followed her indoors, where she pointed to a high shelf, inside a cupboard. That box, there. The white one. It's full breakables, she warned him, careful. A few minutes later she placed a small slim, China vase in his hand. It had a blue rim, a dainty spray of forget-me-not flowers and, in gold script, the word "Mother". I was six or seven when I gave this to my mother, She treasured it. Do you think it would be a good idea? Do you, Vincent? She asked eagerly. He looked at her, her head cocked to one side expectantly, her eyes aglow with love, and he marvelled again at her beauty, her warmth, her generosity. He knew he had to be the luckiest man alive. He was blessed. Catherine, it's absolutely perfect! I can't wait to give it to her. Will you come with me? So Vincent cut his wonderful Christmas rose and, as excited as two children, they went below to find the kindly soul, who for both of them, fulfilled the role of Mother