“Have you now?” Lucy sat herself down. “So, you really think he’s the one?”
“Oh, he is. I just know he is!”
“Well, come on then. Who is he?”
Bridget opened her mouth to answer, then changed her mind. “Get yourself a cuppa tea first—oh, and another o’ these.” She held out her glass. “I’ve a thirst come on me all of a sudden.” She shrugged her broad shoulders in that apologetic manner which Lucy knew only too well.
Lucy didn’t argue, because she knew it would do no good. Instead, she took the glass, half-filled it and handed it back. “You’d best make that last. Your fella might not approve of his woman being three sheets to the wind.”
Bridget took a ladylike sip. “Why, ye cheeky young heathen!” She then took another sip, this time longer. “I’ll be the best judge o’ that, so I will!” She leaned forward in intimate manner. “I’m so glad you like the two-piece,” she said. “I bought it special. I bought these special an’ all.” Clambering out of the chair, she hoisted her skirt to display vast thighs, topped by the laciest pair of knickers Lucy had ever seen. “Pure silk, I’ll have ye know!” Bridget imparted, wide-eyed. “Cost me a small fortune, so they did. Well—what d’ye think? D’ye like them? D’ye think he’ll like them?”
Lucy was lost for words, and told Bridget so.
“Ah, go on and make the tea,” Bridget told her, disappointed. “Sure, if he doesn’t like them, he’s not the fella I thought he was.”
Smiling to herself, Lucy retreated to the kitchen where she boiled the kettle and made the tea, then came back into the parlor with a plate of little fairy cakes. “Have one of these,” she suggested. “It’ll soak up the gin.”
Bridget laughed aloud. “So now you’re telling me what to do, is it?” she spluttered. “Seems to me you’re getting above yourself, young woman.”
Seating herself in the other chair, Lucy leaned back, cup in hand and waiting. “Well?”
Bridget frowned. “Well what?”
“What’s the latest news then?”
All in a rush as was her way, Bridget went over all the usual items of gossip. “Little Tillie’s gone off on a week’s holiday to the Lake District. She fell out with her boyfriend a few days back and says she’s finished with men forever, but she says that all the time and then she’s off again, seeing some other lanky, pimply, no-good thing.” Taking a breath, she proceeded at a faster pace. “I said to her, I said, ‘Will ye never learn, girl? The buggers are only after what’s in your drawers’ but will she listen? No, of course she won’t!”
Lucy thought Tillie had done the right thing. “The change of scene will do her good. The Lakes are so beautiful. When she comes back, she can stay with me if she wants to.” Lucy had been through this all before with dear Tillie.
“What? Stay with you?” Bridget was horrified. “She’ll do no such thing! I need her back at the house, I do. While she’s been gone, I’ve had to take on some useless woman from the other side of Liverpool.” She gave a long, agonizing groan. “I won’t even tell you what a pain she is.” Rolling the palm of her hand across her forehead, she gave a trembling sigh. “Sometimes I think I was born to be a martyr.”
“Oh Bridget, don’t be so dramatic.” Wisely changing the subject, Lucy enquired, “So tell me, what else is happening?”
Fast recovered, Bridget launched into the next snipper of news. “I’m having a new bathroom fitted upstairs—all black marble and best cream carpet. Going posh, I am.” She gave that naughty wink again. “That’ll cost the clients a few bob more for their pleasure, I can tell ye.”
“And what else?”
“New curtains in the sitting room, o’ course. And I’m considering whether to have the old Victorian fireplace out and get a new one fitted …”
Lucy listened patiently while Bridget outlined all the changes she was having made to the house. “Like I say, it’ll cost a bob or two, but no matter. It’ll be the clients that pay, I’ll make sure o’ that.”
“And what news of the girls?”
Bridget took a long gulp of her gin. “That’s what I meant to tell you,” she said. “Mandy’s only gone and got herself pregnant …” Drawing breath she launched into the lecture. “Time and again I’ve told them, ‘You must never let yourself get with child,’ but will they listen?” She gave a long, shivering shake of the head. “Not at all! Now I know you wouldn’t be without your Jamie for all the tea in China, the darlin’, but you’ve got to admit, it’s not the easiest thing in the world, is it, having a bairn without a ring on your finger? Anyway, our Mandy has decided to marry the fella in question, and now she’s gone off to meet his family, would ye believe? Of course she won’t tell them about her job, nor will her fiancé, who is a nice young man, I’ll give him that. Nor will she let on that she’s already with child or they’ll immediately think she’s a trollop, and she’s not.”
She drew another, longer breath. “Mandy’s a good girl, always has been. To tell you the truth, her heart’s never been in her work, so it might be as well that she’s gone.”
Lucy was pleased. “I hope she remembers to write.”
“I’m sure she will,” Bridget answered. “But I don’t really expect we’ll see much of her again, because the fella is French, and that’s where she’s been whisked off to—a place called Montpellier.” She sighed. “And there’s me, left in the lurch, so I am.”
Lucy chuckled. “You’ll have to get your fella to comfort you then, won’t you?” She had wanted to ask after the “gent,” and this was her chance.
“I’m sure he’ll comfort me if I ask him,” came the confident answer. “He’s a real gentleman, bless his kind heart.” Bridget dredged her glass and held it up. “Just a wee drop more?” she suggested. “Be a friend. Send me on my way with a smile.”
Shaking her head and thinking how Bridget would never change, Lucy poured her another drink.
“Ah, but aren’t you the lovely woman!” Bridget said, gulping down the gin.
When she again held out her glass, Lucy was adamant. “No. I won’t be responsible for spoiling your date. If you want another drink, you’ll have to get it yourself.”
“I wish you’d stop jumping to conclusions.” Bridget was suitably indignant. “I’m only handing the glass back.”
It was just as well, because when she left half an hour later, her hat was tipsy on her head and her legs just the slightest bit wobbly. “I’ll see youse again,” she told Lucy. Then she lifted her skirt and clambered into the open-topped car.
Falling into the passenger seat, she plonked a smacker of a kiss on the man beside her; a “gent” indeed, with his tailored moustache and cream-colored blazer, he looked a right dapper. He also had red blood in his veins because having caught a glimpse of her knickers when she cocked a fine leg to climb into the car, he took the liberty of stroking his hand along her stockinged thigh, all the way up to the suspender, quickly removing it when he saw Lucy looking on with amusement.
She nodded a greeting to him and he nodded back. “Hold onto your hat, my sweetie,” he told the blushing Bridget. “We could get up to thirty miles an hour if I set my mind to it.”
He set off with a roar and a squeal, with Bridget laughing and screeching like a silly schoolgirl beside him.
Lucy held back the laughter until they were out of sight, then she collapsed in hysterics, mimicking Bridget as she was wont to do. Oh, how she hoped her friend could hold onto this one. He was an absolute treasure. Priceless!
Going inside, she wiped the tears from her eyes and made herself another cup of tea. Thirty miles an hour indeed! she thought, then said aloud, “I don’t know about holding onto your hat. If you ask me, it’s not the hat you’re in danger of losing so much as your pretty silk knickers!”
The laughter bubbled up again; the sight of well-upholstered Bridget in her wonky hat, flashing her lingerie, and the dandy-man goggle-eyed at this vision of heaven, was all too much for Lucy. She laughed so much that Jamie
woke up!
But if Bridget was happy, she thought, picking her son up and hugging him, then so was she, because if it hadn’t been for Bridget, she would have been lost, long since.
Ten
The following day, Lucy’s week started all over again. Rising early, she had her wash and got dressed; then she made her bed and collected the child from his cot.
With that done she sat him in his chair at the table, made his porridge and while he plastered his hands and face with that, she burned herself a piece of toast which she covered in Joanne’s homemade strawberry jam. “Your Auntie Joanne makes the best jam in the world,” she told the child, who was far too busy licking his chubby fingers to pay attention.
“I need you to be on your best behavior,” she coaxed. “There’s work to be done in Long Field, harvesting the spuds, and it’s a case of all hands to the deck. The crop is ready to be taken in, Barney says. The plants have died off and the soil is good and dry.”
This would be her first close experience of working on the land, and she was really looking forward to it.
She glanced at the mantelpiece clock. “We need to be away from here by seven,” she took a great bite of her toast, “so eat up, little fella, then I’ll give you a drink and get you washed, and we’ll be on our way.” Reaching over the table she tickled him under the chin, and the little boy giggled. “Joanne said she would make up a picnic for when we stop to eat. We’ll have it down by the river, that’s what she said—and won’t that be lovely, eh?”
In fact, life itself was so wonderful these days, she could hardly believe her good fortune.
During the next half-hour, Lucy went about her chores; she cleared and washed the breakfast things while Jamie played, then took her son and washed him, made sure she had everything they needed, then strapped him into his pram and parked him outside on the path while she secured the cottage behind her.
Taking the bridle path up to Overhill Farm, she found the going hard; one minute she was pushing the pram and the next she was pulling it, until her arms ached from shoulder to wrist. But it was such a beautiful day, she didn’t mind a bit. Besides, little Jamie was in his element, laughing and chuckling, until he eventually fell asleep and all she could hear were the birds singing and the river bubbling over the boulders.
As they came through the spinney, the terrain became easier. Well-worn by travellers and locals alike, in parts the meandering walkway was rough and bumpy underfoot, but for the most part it was easy going. From the cottage to the farm, it took exactly twenty minutes; Lucy had timed herself on the first day.
“Joanne!” Waving as she approached the house, Lucy saw Barney’s wife hanging out the washing. “I’m not too late, am I?”
Waving back, Joanne took the wooden pegs out of her mouth. “The boys have already gone to the fields,” she replied. “Barney’s taken Susie into town for her hat-making, and he’ll come back straight after. We won’t be needed for a little while yet.”
She was finished with the washing. “My! You put me to shame!” she exclaimed. “You look lovely, Lucy. Bright and fresh as a daisy.”
It was true. Lucy did look very fetching in the long dark skirt and loose white blouse, worn to work in the fields, and something about the way she had swept her hair back into a thick plait made her seem almost childlike. “And look at me—hands red from rubbing the sheets in the dolly-tub, and hair all over the place. I must look terrible,” Joanne laughed ruefully.
“You don’t look any such thing!” Lucy would have none of it. She looked at Joanne with her sunkissed hair and those wonderful expressive gray eyes, and all she saw was beauty and goodness. “You always look lovely,” she said honestly. “It’s right what Barney says: you couldn’t help but look pretty, even if you’d just come up from the coal-mines.”
Joanne laughed. “That’s my Barney,” she said. “He looks at me through rose-colored glasses and can’t see the wood for the trees.”
“That’s because he loves you.” Lucy wondered if she would ever find that kind of love. “I’ve never known anyone love his woman, like Barney loves you.”
For a moment Joanne was silenced by Lucy’s profound words. “I love him the same way,” she quietly confessed. “Sometimes it frightens me, the way Barney believes we’ll always be together. The thing is, Lucy, when you’re part of each other, like me and Barney, there can never be a happy ending. Someone is bound to be sad at the end of it all.”
When she looked up, there was a kind of desolation in her gray eyes. “You see, when either of us is taken, the one left behind will be totally lost.”
Lucy was amazed at the depth of pain in Joanne’s voice, in her eyes, in her whole demeanor. “You’re neither of you going anywhere!” she declared stoutly, in an attempt to break the moment. “Not until you’ve made me enough strawberry jam to last me into old age, any road.”
The mood broke and Joanne laughed out loud. “If you like it that much, you’d best take another jar from the pantry.” She then threw the pegs into her big basket and placing it under her arm, she put her other arm through Lucy’s. “Come on, you.” Her smile was content. “The water’s already hot in the kettle, it’ll take but a minute to bring it back to the boil. We’ve time enough for a brew before we roll up our sleeves.”
In truth, both Joanne and Lucy had already had their sleeves rolled up these past two hours and more. All the same, it was nice to take time out for a cuppa and a chat, all girls together, and that was exactly what they did. “Bridget came to see me yesterday,” Lucy imparted, grinning at the memory. “You should have seen her, all done up in a new outfit and a hat like you could never imagine.”
Joanne took a gulp of her tea. “Got herself a fancy man, has she?” Joanne was a broadminded woman who respected Bridget for her kindness, and welcomed her, when other townsfolk looked down their noses at her.
“Seems like that.”
While they drank their tea and Jamie slept on, Lucy relayed the gossip and the two of them hoped that Bridget had found a man who would take care of her, for she was a good-hearted woman and not as young as she used to be.
Twenty minutes later, with both tea and gossip done, they set about the daily chores; Lucy seeing to the bathroom upstairs and making up the beds with fresh-laundered linen while Jamie “helped” her, and Joanne tackling the work downstairs.
Some short time later, with the house all spick and span, they made their way to the fields, where Barney and his sons were already halfway down the potato field. Armed with light forks, each of them earthed up the secret treasure of the potatoes, hidden beneath the rich soil. They were beauties—no sign of rot or infestation—and Barney was delighted. A bumper crop might cheer Mr. Maitland who had been looking very preoccupied of late.
“RONNIE!” Barney’s voice could be heard shouting instructions to the younger of his two sons. “Stop messing about and get on with it.” With the work piling up, Barney was in no mood for frivolous behavior. “We’ve the rest of this field to do yet!”
Unlike his father and brother Tom, Ronnie, free-spirited and happy-go-lucky, was too easily distracted. He would collect the potatoes in the barrow lined with sacking, then wheel it to the barn, where the crop was stored in the dark and cool, and on the way back, he’d lark about, talking to the horse in the next field and playing tricks on his brother.
“He’s a good lad,” Joanne remarked tolerantly as she and Lucy made their way to the men. “But he still has a lot of growing up to do yet.”
Thrilled to be here, Lucy soaked up the atmosphere. Her attention drawn every which way, she took it all in: Barney’s familiar figure bent over the long trench; the sunlight bouncing off the tines of the men’s forks; the seemingly endless skies, and the bright warm sunshine. Here, now, it was as though she and Jamie and Barney’s family were the only people in the whole wide world.
“Fine crop of spuds this year.” Having worked many seasons alongside Barney, Joanne spoke from experience.
As Barney
took his turn with the barrow, he shouted, “Are you here to watch, or work?” He went away laughing. “You’re no good to me if all you’ve come to do is admire the scenery.”
“Cheeky devil!” Joanne yelled after him. “Another remark like that and you can do the spuds on your own, ’cause we’d rather be in Liverpool, strolling round the shops!”
Joanne and Barney could bandy insults without getting offended. It was part of their deep knowledge of each other.
The hours passed too quickly and every experience was new to Lucy. Working and laughing, stumbling in the trenches and clambering up again, getting into a rhythm with the digging, with the sun on her face and the cooling breeze a welcome relief. She wanted this day never to end.
“I’ll be glad when we stop for a break.” Joanne paused to wipe the sweat from her brow. “I’m all in.” She stroked Jamie’s hair as he squealed, pointing excitedly to a worm. They were surrounded by birds, swooping down as the tubers were earthed up.
A short time later and aching through every bone, Barney paused to stretch his limbs. Taking out his pocket-watch he glanced at the time. “Good Lord! Why didn’t somebody tell me it was nearly one o’clock?”
To everyone’s relief he called for a break, at the same time taking the opportunity to slide his arm round his wife’s waist and give her a resounding kiss. “I’m proud of the three of you,” he told Joanne, Lucy and Jamie. “I might even go so far as to say you’re as good as the men …” At that moment he saw Ronnie throw himself down some way off, to lie flat under a tree. “And maybe better than most,” he added with a light-hearted groan.
Ronnie was the first to answer. “Not bad,” he said airily. “It took Lucy a while to get the hang of it, but she got there in the end.”
“They did well.” Thomas gave his dad a knowing wink. “In fact, they did so well, I reckon us men should go home and leave them to it. Come on, Jamie.”
The Journey Page 14