by June Gadsby
‘Well, I just thought I’d ask,’ he said numbly. ‘It would be better than you struggling to raise a bairn without a man, even if it isn’t mine.’
Still Laura held her silence, and Maureen with her, though his sister made one or two small sounds as if she were bursting to laugh or cry or both – he didn’t know which, nor did he care.
He screwed his cap up in his hands, straightened it out again, then placed it awkwardly on his head and walked back outside, giving another gulp as he closed the door firmly behind him.
Down by the river, he could see Bridget sitting on a fallen tree. She was dangling her legs and dipping her bare toes into the burbling waters. Making diamonds she used to call it when they were children together. The sun was filtering through the greenery above, turning her hair into flame and giving her a kind of halo of gold. Billy went to join her, sitting as close to her as he could get He always found comfort in her closeness.
‘So what did she say to your grand proposal, then?’ Bridget asked, staring down at her fingers, which lay entwined in her lap.
‘Nothing,’ Billy said, smoothing out the stiff material of his dungarees over his thighs, the roughened skin of his workman’s hands rasping like sandpaper. ‘At least she didn’t laugh.’
‘Maybe she needs time to think it over, eh?’
‘Aye. Maybe she does.’
‘It was probably a bit of a shock for her, you asking her to marry her like that. I mean, it took me by surprise and I thought I knew everything there was to know about you, Billy Flynn.’
‘Aye, there’s not a lot you don’t know, Bridget.’
‘Do you think she’ll say yes?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Will it bother you if she doesn’t – you know – say yes?’
‘Aye. Aye, Bridget, it will an’ all.’
Bridget’s arm slid out and went round Billy’s slumped shoulders. She pulled him against her and he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing deeply to keep himself from crying, because real men didn’t cry. He didn’t see the tears that ran down Bridget’s cheeks that she swiped at surreptitiously, not wanting to give herself away.
Silly bitch! She chastised herself silently, then she whispered into the top of Billy’s fair head ‘Silly sod. You’re worth better than Laura Caldwell. A lot better.’
‘Thanks, Bridget,’ Billy sniffed and raised his head, looking at her with glistening blue eyes. ‘I doubt anybody would agree with you, but thanks, anyway.’
‘Hey, come on,’ Bridget gave him a playful dig in the ribs. ‘It could have been worse. It could have been me up the spout instead of Laura. How would you have liked being landed with me on your plate, eh?’
Billy didn’t say anything. He just stared at her for a long time, then blinked once and looked away into the middle distance, a small frown creasing his forehead.
* * *
‘Just listen to that ! Who’d have thought a little pint-sized woman could make such a racket?’
Billy grinned at the man who had spoken. They were standing at the back of a crowd of unemployed workmen, craning their necks to see the tiny, elfish Ellen Henderson, well-known Member of Parliament, who had taken up their cause. Even if they couldn’t see her too well, they had no problem hearing her, for she had a forceful voice that carried right across the square.
‘This town has been murdered!’ she was crying out. ‘There’s not a man in gainful employment anywhere in Jarrow. Who among you can afford to feed your children? We have to let the government know that they are not doing enough to help the working men of this country, and in particular this town that should stand proud, not hang its head in shame...’
It was just one of the many speeches, some of them ad hoc, that Red Ellen had made. A great roar went up as she made her closing statement calling for the men to take action, promising she would be behind them all the way.
‘In fact,’ she said, ‘I’ll do more than that. I’ll march with you!’
‘How about it, Billy lad? You going on the march?’
‘Where to?’ Billy asked, for he had been distracted at the crucial moment of the MP’s speech, having caught sight of Laura Caldwell walking by, trying to hide her pregnancy behind a shopping bag.
‘Why, London, of course. We’re all going to march to London with a petition and show the bloody Prime Minister that we mean business.’
‘Think it’ll do any good?’ said another man.
‘Red Ellen seems to think so.’
‘What! I can’t see her making any impression on anybody. She’s not the size of two pennorth of copper. Funny looking little thing.’
Billy looked across to where he had a better view of Ellen Henderson as she walked across the square and climbed into an official looking black car – probably the mayor’s. He had to agree that she wasn’t anybody’s idea of a raving beauty, and she was a bit lame too. That flaming mop of hair didn’t do anything for her either, with her pale complexion and pointed elfin features. But she was game, he would say that for her.
‘Give her a chance, lads,’ he said, and just for a split second the MP turned a bright blue gaze on him and gave him a radiant smile. ‘She looks to me like she’s made of stern stuff.’
Ellen Henderson’s smile broadened. She nodded at Billy and raised a hand in a kind of salute, and he knew that whatever happened, he just had to be among the two hundred men who would be marching to London.
Taking leave of his pals, Billy headed to Bridget’s house. She had bought the upstairs flat above the cobbler’s shop in Staithes Terrace and he often stayed there with her rather than go home to his mother and her drinking. She was more and more abusive towards him these days, though she still relied heavily on him for financial support. He hated the time he spent there in the old family home. It didn’t smell clean and fresh like Bridget’s place. There were no real home comforts left. Maggie pawned them, all but the beds they slept in and a table and two chairs in the kitchen. If he’d had his head screwed on the right way he would never have gone back there, but she was his mother, after all.
‘Bridget!’ He clumped up the stairs, enjoying the meaty aroma of whatever Bridget was cooking for dinner. ‘Hey, Bridget!’
Bridget was in the living room and turned to greet him with a face that he didn’t recognize. She looked guilty, embarrassed. Then he saw the reason why. There was someone else in the room. Laura Caldwell.
Billy stared in silence at Bridget’s visitor.
‘Miss Caldwell’s my new tenant, Billy,’ Bridget informed him.
‘Hello, Billy,’ Laura said, smiling shyly as she pulled her coat around her distended belly where her baby was residing, waiting for its time to present itself to the world. ‘I hope my presence won’t...I mean...’ She gave a huge gulp and looked to Bridget for support.
‘She had nowhere else to go, Billy,’ Bridget said. ‘Her landlady turned her out because she couldn’t afford the rent.’
‘My...my father died,’ Laura said huskily, ‘so the money stopped.’
‘Couldn’t your mother take you back?’ Billy said, his brain both seething with anger at the injustice of Laura’s situation, and frozen solid because of what had happened at their last meeting.
‘My mother isn’t very strong,’ Laura said with a quick glance at Bridget.
‘Mrs Caldwell,’ said Bridget, with little sympathy in her voice, ‘is having a nervous breakdown and can’t see her way clear to put a roof over the head of her only daughter.’
Billy had never heard such bitterness coming from Bridget. He had always understood that she had no liking for Laura. They were like chalk and cheese these two young women. He still thought of Laura as young, though she must be in her late twenties now. There was, however, something very childlike about her. An innocence and a beauty that still touched him, despite the difference in their ages and despite her condition.
‘I’m so grateful to Bridget,’ Laura was saying. ‘I’ve promised to pay her back. Every penny of the rent I o
we. Just as soon as...well, as soon as I can find a job and earn some money.’
Billy gave a short laugh. ‘Don’t bank on it,’ he said. ‘There aren’t any jobs to be had, even for working men. And then there’s talk of another war with Germany. This country is going to the dogs.’
‘Oh, let’s not get maudlin, Billy,’ Bridget said, bustling about in the way he liked, looking happy and bright-eyed, though today her eyes were perhaps a little too bright. ‘I’ve got some lovely lamb stew on the go. Let’s all sit down and enjoy it.’
‘Before we do that, Bridget,’ Billy said, ‘I’ve got some news.’
‘Oh, aye ? You’ve not found a job, have you?’ Bridget turned to Laura with a proud smile. ‘Billy will never be destitute. He’s one of those entrepeneurs. Isn’t that the right word, Billy? While all the men in Jarrow are doing nothing and feeling sorry for themselves, Billy Big Boots here is working and earning. It might not always be exactly legal, but we’ll not say anything about that, eh, Billy ? There’s men who do a lot worse and get away with it.’
Billy gave a half-hearted smile. ‘I stay inside the law,’ he said. ‘Well, sort of. Anyway, that Ellen Henderson – you know, the MP? – she’s organizing a petition against the unemployment around here in the north east – Jarrow in particular. There’s going to be a march. Two hundred men marching from Jarrow to London with a petition for the Prime Minister. I’m going with them.’
All the time he was talking, Billy was aware that Laura took no interest. She looked as if she was withdrawn into her own little world, building walls up around her too solid for anyone to penetrate. Besides, he thought, he could hardly expect to impress her now he was unemployed like everybody else around here. The other lads on benefit didn’t get enough money to feed their families on. At least he had his scrap business that he had built up since he was a nipper, and it was still going strong. It was amazing what people would pay for somebody else’s rubbish.
‘I’ve heard about this march,’ Bridget said. ‘They’re raising a thousand pounds for the men to keep them in food and clothing.’
‘It’s all that Ellen Wilkinson’s doing,’ Billy told her. ‘She’s pretty strong in Parliament, always fighting for the underdog.’
‘What’s she like, then?’
‘Well, I expected somebody big and bolshy, but she’s tiny and walks with a bit of a limp. Mind you, she’s got red hair, which is why they call her ‘Red’, and she’s as fiery as a fire cracker. Reminds me a bit of you, Bridget. You can be a bit explosive when you get going.’
Bridget frowned and made a derogatory sound.
‘I don’t like the idea of you going all that way down to London. It’ll take days, two hundred men walking two hundred miles, sleeping rough and starving most of the way. And what if the weather’s bad?’
‘Well, then, we’ll get wet,’ Billy said with a laugh.
‘Maybe I should come with you to make sure you look after yourself,’ Bridget said thoughtfully and Billy was surprised to hear her sound so serious.
‘Nah, don’t be daft. Anyhow, women aren’t allowed. This is a man thing.’
‘And what’s Ellen Wilkinson, if she isn’t a woman?’
‘Aye, but she’s different. It’s her that’s in charge. She says she’ll march with us to show the Prime Minister that she means business.’
‘If she can march with you, then so can I,’ Bridget got that determined light in her eye Billy knew of old. ‘Right. That’s settled. You let me know when we have to start off and I’ll be ready.’
‘They won’t let you, Bridget, honest,’ Billy said, shaking his head. ‘It’s going to be just us men.’
‘What does your mam say about this march, Billy? How’s she going to cope with you missing for days on end? Weeks maybe?’
Billy chewed on his mouth as he thought about the plight of his mother. Maggie hadn’t been well lately. In fact, she had been so ill she hadn’t even touched a drop of alcohol for over a week. Nor had she eaten anything, so she looked like a skeleton and he fair expected to hear her bones rattle when she walked. Not that she did much walking. It was all she could do to find the strength to get out of her bed these days and a lot of the time he had to help her to the lavatory out in the back yard. She had no pride left in her. She couldn’t afford to have any when she was incapable of even wiping her own backside.
‘I’ll have to think about that,’ he said. ‘Maybe our Maureen could see to her while I’m away.’
‘Oh, it might never happen,’ Bridget said, bustling in and out of the kitchen and getting a tasty meal on the table that made Billy realize how hungry he was. ‘Come on, let’s eat. Miss Caldwell, I’ve set a place for you, if you don’t mind a bit of Irish stew, though I have to admit there’s more potato in it than meat.’
Laura roused herself enough to reply, but her voice seemed weak and her eyes far away.
‘Thank you, Bridget, but I’m not hungry. I think I’ll just go to my room, if you don’t mind?’
‘You got that back pain again ?’ Bridget asked. ‘Maybe you should see the doctor.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing, really. I’m just tired.’
She got up, dragging her heavy body wearily to the open door into the passage. Billy received a pointed look from Bridget and he grabbed Laura’s suitcase, which she was struggling to pick up.
‘Here, let me do that,’ he said and saw a fleeting look of gratitude, though Laura remained silent as he accompanied her to her bedroom and placed the case on the bed so she could unpack it without having to bend.
He hovered in the doorway, the memory of the day when he proposed marriage to her still fresh and bothersome in his mind. But Laura was already ignoring him and opening the case, her movements slow and laborious, and he couldn’t help thinking the illness reflected in her face was the same as he saw every day in his mother’s regard. He had never seen a sadder woman than his mother, until now. Depression the doctors called it, and short of sending patients to the lunatic asylum there seemed to be no cure for the disease.
Billy started to say something, offer her some kind of comforting word, but she turned a dark gaze on him and whatever he was about to say died in his mouth.
‘Thank you, Billy. I can manage now.’
It was totally dismissive. He nodded, backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Back in the living room, Bridget was ladling out her Irish stew into two large soup plates.
‘Come on, Billy. I can’t let you go back to that house of yours without something hot in your belly, even if it is summer.’ She sat down and shoved a plate towards him, so he did as he was told and sat down opposite her. It never took much persuasion on Bridget’s part to share a meal with her, or just sit with her in front of the coal fire in the winter, or on the front step downstairs when the sun shone. Sometimes, they went for walks together, and that was good too. In fact, everything was good about Bridget. One day she would make a fine wife for some lucky fella.
He looked up at her and grinned.
‘So what’s that grin for, Billy Flynn?’ she asked, compressing her lips so that her dimples showed.
‘Ach, I was just comparing you with yon Mrs Wilkinson.’
‘You were, were you?’ Bridget’s head went on one side and she regarded him closely, one golden eyebrow raised. ‘And what conclusion did you come to?’
‘I think you’d make a fine politician, Bridget Maguire, with that tongue of yours,’ Billy said, scooping up a spoonful of stew and swallowing it with an ecstatic groan of appreciation. ‘And you’ve got the right colour hair, I’d say, but I bet Ellen Wilkinson can’t cook as good as you can.’
‘Really! So, with my tongue and my hair I’d be good at politics? Is that what you think?’
‘No, Bridget, because you haven’t got the hard-faced look to go with it.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Billy hesitated, not sure if she would take his remark the right way, but he felt the need t
o say it, so he did ‘You’re far too pretty.’
He continued to scoop spoonfuls of stew into his mouth, concentrating his gaze on the plate before him. For some unknown reason he felt embarrassed and he didn’t understand why. He didn’t understand at all. This was Bridget he was talking to, and nobody was closer to him than she was. She was more like a sister than a friend and his life would never be the same again if he ever lost her.
Eventually, Billy looked up, because he wasn’t used to being in the same room with Bridget and not have her voice in his ear for what seemed a long period of time. He found her staring at him curiously.
‘Do you really think I’m pretty?’ she said huskily.
‘Aye, of course I do.’
‘I’m not used to compliments,’ she said and started to clear the table. ‘Not from decent blokes anyway. Thanks, Billy.’
‘Didn’t cost me nowt,’ he said with a shrug and what he hoped was a cheeky grin because he was feeling mightily strange down in the pit of his stomach.
‘Ye’re a daft sod, Billy Big Boots,’ he heard Bridget say as she carried the dirty dishes out to the scullery. ‘Daft, but nice.’
Chapter Ten
‘Mam! Mam, open the door! Let us in, will ye?’
Billy had been banging on the front door for five minutes. Banging and shouting at the top of his voice until the neighbours were hanging out of their windows, despite the pouring rain, to see what all the commotion was about. Even old Mrs Turnbull from next door stepped out onto the street, with her old woollen shawl over her head, making her look like a mean old witch, though Billy knew she had a heart of gold beneath her rough exterior.
‘Billy, for Gawd’s sake, lad!’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Turnbull, but I can’t make me mam hear us.’
‘I thought she’d given up the booze,’ his neighbour said, swiping at a raindrop that formed on the end of her long, beaky nose.