by June Gadsby
‘Missing you, do you mean?’ There was an unaccustomed sharp edge to her voice.
Billy lifted a shoulder. There had been a time when he would have given anything to be missed by Laura Caldwell. Now, he wondered if he had been crazy in the head to ever think she could look upon him as anything other than the little lad she saved from the murderous hands of Patrick Flynn.
And now his thoughts became dark and broody as he was reminded of what that man had done, and what he was likely to do to others if he was left roaming freely in the streets. If he was ever caught, they’d hang him. No doubt about that. Damn him to hell for the devil he is!
‘Billy!’
Bridget was tugging at his arm. He gave her a questioning look then realized that he had unconsciously whipped the flanks of the horse in his rage and Neddy was pushing himself into a fast trot, steaming and foaming in the midday sun that was a whole lot warmer than it ever was in Jarrow.
‘Whoa! Whoa, boy!’ He hauled on the reins and Neddy slowed down again, snorting and wheezing and throwing globules of foam left and right as he struggled to pull them along the Victoria Embankment.
It was fortunate that the horse stopped just then, because the crowds of spectators were becoming thick on the ground, spreading as they did all the way from the House of Commons, everyone pushing and shoving and trying to get closer so they could see the marching men from Jarrow and be well placed to witness the handing over of the all-important box containing the petition of 11,000 names.
‘We’ll never get through,’ Bridget shouted over the noise of people hurrying past, laughing and cheering and being generally in high spirits. ‘Not with the cart, Billy.’
Suddenly there was a crush of people all around them and two uniformed policemen, with truncheons waving, were ordering Billy to get his horse and cart off the road and out of the way of the traffic. Billy had been shocked at the volume of traffic in London, with trams and motorcars travelling at breakneck speed, klaxons blaring. And pedestrians in their thousands, he reckoned, scurrying this way and that, making suicidal dashes from one side of the road to the other.
‘Where can we go, officer?’ Billy asked, standing up on the cart, the reins held tautly in his sweating hands. ‘I can’t turn around in this lot.’
‘You shouldn’t be here in the first place,’ one big, red-faced policeman said tetchily, pushing at the horse’s side and beckoning to his colleague to come and help. ‘Go on, you ugly brute! Get over, will you!’
Neddy tossed his head with a snort and rolled his eyes, but only one foot lifted and gave a stubborn stamp that raised a cloud of dust. He wasn’t going to budge an inch. Not for these bullying strangers dressed in black and silver. In fact, he wasn’t going to move another step, not even if the Devil himself gave the order. Not even for Billy could he shift his heavy, weary body, even if he wanted to.
Billy felt the cart lurch before he saw what was happening. He grabbed hold of Bridget, one arm fastened tightly about her waist, and jumped clear with her as his world of the last few weeks crashed onto the steep embankment. In a flash, he saw boots, hammers and heavy lasts tumble out of the cart and roll down the grassy bank toward the shimmering waters of the Thames. Children, seeing it as a bit of fun to brighten their day, ran after them, grabbing trophies and holding them aloft victoriously.
‘Oh, Billy!’
Billy felt Bridget stir beneath him, gasping breathlessly. He scrambled off her and helped her to her feet, brushing her down, checking for injuries, of which, fortunately, there were none, other than a grazed knee and a bruised shoulder.
‘Damned coppers!’ Billy said through gritted teeth. ‘I could have shifted Neddy if they hadn’t of interfered.’
‘Oh, Billy!’ Bridget exclaimed again and he saw her shake her head and caught the glint of a tear in her eye as she looked over his shoulder where a crowd had gathered, gawping at the new spectacle of the day. ‘I don’t think you could have done anything, really. Look.’
He spun around and blinked at the sight before him. The cart, as he well knew, had overturned, scattering their meagre belongings. But it was the cause of the overturning that he now sadly feasted his eyes on. Neddy, the old but proud and courageous companion of their journey, had keeled over between the shafts and was now lying in the gutter, head thrashing bemusedly, foam and steam discharging from flared nostrils and quivering mouth, equine eyes wide and wild.
‘Aw, no! Not Neddy as well!’ Billy had not yet got over the death of his poor dog at the brutal hands of Patrick Flynn, and now there was another tragedy to cope with. Not only that, but it was his fault.
‘Is he going to die?’ Bridget whispered.
Billy said nothing. He went to kneel by the head of the old horse. As he reached out to give the beast a soothing stroke something wet fell onto the back of his hand and he realized that he was crying.
‘I’m sorry, Neddy, lad,’ he said hoarsely, entwining his fingers in the black mane and resting his cheek on the cheek of the horse, feeling the animal’s hot, laboured breathing on his chest. ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you so far.’
‘Come on, come on you lot!’ The older policeman was taking control of the crowd, pushing them away, urging them to go about their business. Then he turned to Billy and looked down at him severely, but not totally unsympathetically. ‘I’m sorry, son, but we’ll have to shift you from here.’
‘But how...?’ Even as he started to ask the question, Billy felt the horse sag beneath him and when he turned his attention back to Neddy, the brown eyes gazed up at him so trusting, so loving, then with a final sigh, the horse breathed its last.
‘Ah, gawd, that’s tough,’ the policeman said; ‘You from up north, are you? One o’ them Jarrow lads?’
‘Aye,’ Billy whispered, his hand stroking the horse’s shoulder in long, gentle movements. ‘Aye, that’s where I’m from, and I wish I’d never come to London.’
‘Thought it was the land of opportunity, did ye, son? Paved with gold and all that? Well, let me tell ye, it’s not what they say it is down here and you’d be best advised to go back to your roots.’
‘I only came down here to help the lads,’ Billy told him. ‘That petition’s important. I wanted to be in on the glory when it’s handed over. It’s going to bring my people jobs and enough money to put food in their mouths and clothes on their backs.’
‘If that’s what you think, Geordie lad, ye’re as deluded as the rest of them. Now, why don’t you pack up your things and go back home.’
Billy stroked Neddy one last time and got stiffly to his feet. He squared his shoulders and pulled himself up as tall as he could manage, but he was still dwarfed by the big, brawny officer of the law.
‘And how do you propose I do that, officer?’ he asked. ‘My things are scattered all over the Embankment, what little I had. Scattered and stolen. My cart is broken and my horse is dead. I suppose you expect me to put him on me shoulders and carry him back to Jarrow, eh?’
The officer put his hands on his hips and heaved a deep sigh. He ran an eye over the damage that was blocking half the road and the traffic building up nose to tail behind them. He looked at Bridget, who was quietly weeping, though Billy wasn’t certain whether it was for the horse or just their general situation. He didn’t like to see her cry and if he had possessed a magic wand he would have undone all the bad things that had happened to them on the journey down. But he didn’t have a wand and once a bad thing happened you couldn’t undo it, so the only thing was to move forward, one way or another.
‘Tell you what, son,’ the policeman said, running a huge hand around his clean-shaven face. ‘I’ve got a brother-in-law in the butchery business. I’ll get word to him about the horse. He’ll be glad to take it off your hands.’
‘For meat, do you mean?’ Billy’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. ‘If he’s going to make a profit out of Neddy, I’d like some of it.’
‘You’re not as thick as you look, are ye?’ the officer g
ave a short laugh and delved into his pocket, bringing out a fistful of change.
‘That’s not enough!’ It was Bridget who bellowed out the words past Billy’s ear. ‘There’s enough meat on that horse to feed half of London.’
The policeman fixed her with a stony gaze and dug a little deeper, but didn’t come up with much more. ‘Come off it, love. Do you think us law enforcement officers are made of money? My brother-in-law’s an old skinflint, so you won’t get anything out of him. He’d want paying just to move the horse down the road.’
Billy glanced at Bridget, pleased that she should stick up for him, but he knew they were both on a losing wicket.
‘Look, officer,’ he said, resignation in his voice. ‘I bought Neddy for a song from the Knacker’s yard. He got us to London and if he’d have lived, he would have got us back home again. Just pay me enough for our train fair and a bite to eat on the way and you can have the horse and the cart with it.’
‘Billy! That’s your future you’re giving away,’ Bridget said, her voice breaking with emotion. ‘How are you going to live?’
Billy shrugged and gave her a wry smile, which was so typically him. ‘You know me, Bridget. I’ll find something. I always do.’ He turned back to the policeman. ‘Well?’
‘You’re a bit of a hard nut, aren’t ye, son?’ the officer took off his helmet and scrabbled about inside the lining, then produced a five pound note. ‘Tell you what. Take this and I won’t let on to my brother-in-law. I’ll forget I owe him a favour and go to somebody else I know who’ll give me a tenner for my trouble. How does that cap fit you, boy, eh?’
‘It fits all right,’ Billy nodded and held out his hand and the deal was done. ‘At least the poor animal hasn’t died in vain.’
‘Right, now be off with you, because I don’t want to have to charge you with obstruction.’
Where are we going, Billy?’ Bridget was running breathlessly beside him as they went against the flow of the crowds. ‘I think we’re going in the wrong direction for House of Commons.’
‘We’re not going to House of Commons.’
‘But what about the petition?’
‘Damn the petition. It’s brought me nothing but trouble.’
‘Then where...?’
‘I saw a little hotel down here as we passed,’ Billy told her, striding out, keeping his fast pace with head bowed as if going against a strong wind. ‘There was a notice that said “vacancies”. I thought we might get a proper bed for the night and then catch the train home in the morning.’
‘Oh!’ Bridget stopped and her cheeks burst into flames. ‘Oh, Billy!’
* * *
‘Well, there you are, then.’
Billy’s right shoulder lifted self-consciously. He and Bridget were standing just inside the small hotel room. Billy clutched a brown paper bag that contained a few essential belonging they had been able to recover from the embankment. It had drawn critical attention from the landlady of the establishment, but she relented when she saw that the young couple could actually afford to pay for their lodgings.
‘How do you mean, Billy?’ Bridget looked uneasy and a little confused. She had looked that way since Billy had signed them in as Mr and Mrs Flynn when the ferret-faced owner had told them that there was only one room available.
They were both staring hard at the double bed in the centre of the room. It was like a magnet, drawing their attention as if their eyeballs were made of metal.
‘Well, you know...’ Another one-shoulder shrug and Billy let the sack drop at his feet, making Bridget jump. ‘I don’t know about you, Bridget, but I’m tired.’
‘Yes, me too.’ Still, neither of them moved. ‘It must be late by now.’
The tall casement window showed squares of navy blue with a scattering of twinkling stars and clouds scudding across the face of the moon that seemed intent on peering at them through the gap of the curtains. There was still some muffled noise from the traffic, but most of the pedestrians had gone home.
‘Aye,’ Billy gave a short, sharp nod. ‘Must be after ten. Should we draw the curtains, do you think?’
‘No, leave them. It’s pretty like that.’
‘The bathroom’s up on the next landing,’ Billy said, remembering what the landlady had told them. ‘You go first, if you want.’
‘Yes, all right.’
When it came to be Billy’s turn, he found himself spending far more time than was necessary in the big cast iron bath with the brass taps that groaned painfully when he turned them off and on. Bridget had enthused over the novelty of having a proper bath with running hot water, but it wasn’t that novelty that was keeping Billy soaking until his skin looked like a wrinkled grape.
He was scared. Somehow, he had to go back to Bridget in their shared room with that big bed and his thoughts and his feelings were terrifying him. He and Bridget had been like brother and sister all their lives, but suddenly he was seeing her, thinking about her in quite a different way. They had snuggled up together for warmth under the tarpaulin over the cart every night for three weeks. It had been cosy, friendly, innocent. Suddenly, it wasn’t so innocent any more. He didn’t know how he would be able to get through another night without touching her, without wanting to hold her in his arms, crush her to him so that they would be melded together as one being.
Billy clambered reluctantly out of the bath when the water had cooled so much that he was shivering. He rubbed himself dry with a coarse towel, then wiped the steam away from a fly-spotted mirror above the washbasin. He hadn’t shaved on the journey to London and now had quite a beard on him, though it was fair and baby-fluff fine. Nevertheless, it made him look older and more mature. Bridget laughed the other day when he gave her a spontaneous kiss on the cheek. She said it tickled, but she seemed to like it.
‘You’re a bloody fool, Billy Flynn,’ he told his hazy reflection. ‘You put one finger on Bridget and she’ll have your guts for garters. What’s she going to think of you, eh?’
Billy eventually crept back through the dark landing wrapped in the damp towel. He opened the door a crack and peered in. The oil lamp by the bedside was giving off a dull glow, enough to find his way about the room. Bridget made a lovely, undulating mound beneath the coverlet. She was lying with her face towards the window and a stray moonbeam caressed the fiery gold tresses that lay on the pillow. He could hear her breathing softly and thanked God she had not stayed awake waiting for him.
Moving stealthily, Billy pulled the second pillow from the bed onto the floor and found a spare quilt in the wardrobe. He threw the damp towel over the back of a chair and, turning out the light, sank down at the foot of the bed, like a faithful dog, covering himself with the quilt.
‘Billy?’ Her voice was hardly more than a muffled whisper, but it made him jump. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I thought you were asleep,’ he stuttered like some kind of imbecile. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’
‘You’ll disturb me if you spend the night on the floor,’ she said, rising on one elbow and peering at him through the darkness.
‘There’s only one bed,’ Billy said unnecessarily and saw her smile.
‘And if you don’t get into it soon, Billy Flynn, I’ll want to know why...or is it that you don’t care for me?’
Billy got to his knees, the quilt falling away. His eyes grew large as he stared at Bridget, not believing that she could possibly mean what he thought she meant.
‘Bridget, what are you saying? If I get into that bed I’ll...well, I’ll...’
‘What will you do, Billy? Will you lie quietly beside me and go to sleep?’
‘If that’s what you want me to do, Bridget, but it’ll be hard. I don’t know if I can do that.’
Bridget frowned at him over the edge of the eiderdown cover, and then she sat up more fully and he could see that she wasn’t wearing her flannelette nightdress. In fact, she wasn’t wearing anything at all. Her breasts were full and round like two magnificent pearls. An
d she was still smiling at him as she crooked a finger.
‘Come here, Billy.’
He stood up, grappling to keep the quilt around his lower body and took a few stumbling steps around the bed until he was standing beside her, He felt light-headed and confused and excited all at the same time, yet still he wasn’t sure what was going to come next, didn’t dare think about it.
Bridget moved her legs and patted the bed beside her, inviting him to sit down. He sat, mainly because he didn’t think his legs would support him for much longer.
‘Do you think, Billy, that you could kiss me?’ Bridget asked and he felt his heart leap, then fall with a dull thud before beating a strange tattoo in his chest. ‘And give me a cuddle, maybe?’
He sat there blinking at her like a fool until she reached out, took hold of his face in both her hands and pulled him towards her.
‘Bridget, I...’
‘Sssh. I’m not asking you to do anything you haven’t wanted to do for a very long time,’ she whispered as she gently touched her lips to his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks and, finally, his mouth.
As he felt the soft warmth of her mouth on his, Billy’s resolve melted and he sagged inside his bones, giving himself up completely to her demands and his own submerged desires.
‘I’ve not done this before, Bridget,’ he said as he slid beneath the covers and she wrapped herself around him so naturally that they might have been doing it all their lives.
‘I know,’ she said and he heard her swallow, deep and resonant. ‘Neither have I...except...you know...’
Billy knew she was remembering their first night on the road when the man he had once believed to be his father attacked and raped her.
‘You don’t have to talk about that,’ he said, nuzzling her neck and willing his body to be patient, but it wasn’t easy. ‘Never again. I’m not like him. I’d never do anything to hurt you, Bridget.’
‘I know.’
‘This time, it’s going to be different.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that, Billy, love. You’re the gentlest man I know and... And I love you Billy. Oh, I love you so much. I always have.’