Voices of the Morning

by June Gadsby

‘All the waiting and the hardships. Never having enough to eat, having to make do and mend.’ Laura threw down the blouse she was attempting to make over so it didn’t show signs of wear. ‘I can’t remember the last time I was able to buy myself some decent clothes.’

  ‘Well, you’re not alone in that.’ Bridget’s scrubbing became more methodical as her brain switched on again and she was forced to recognize the fact Laura was there and in the mood to talk. ‘We do all right. There are lots of people a bloody sight worse off.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t swear, Bridget!’ Laura got up and paced the floor, hugging herself tightly with thin arms, while trying to smoke at the same time. ‘I thought the years of the Depression were bad, but this war...’

  ‘This war will be over one day and things will be better...’ Bridget tossed her scrubbing brush into the dirty soapsuds in the sink and wiped her hands on her pinny. ‘And I wish you wouldn’t smoke them things. The smoke makes me cough and the house stinks because of it.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Laura carefully nipped out the glowing end of her precious cigarette and Bridget felt bad because she knew her friend needed the calming effect the cigarettes gave her. Laura’s nerves were always on the brink of breaking.

  ‘How’s life on the farm, then?’ Laura had joined the Land Army and was stationed on a farm in Northumberland. She got home quite often and Bridget didn’t know whether this was because her employers were kind or whether they were influenced by Laura’s general lack of application to the job.

  There was a short, poignant silence, while Laura seemed to be composing herself. Her eyes flickered over Bridget’s face then her gaze dropped to the floor.

  ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if...’ She gave a shrug and sat down at the kitchen table, picking at the roughened skin around her broken nails. ‘You see, he...Mr Harvey...he’s...well, I...’

  Bridget frowned and sat down in the chair opposite. Laura had been going on about Donald Harvey since the first day she went to work for him. He was a brute of a man who could be quite intimidating if he didn’t get his own way. The men on the farm wouldn’t cross him. He scared the women with his rages, which turned him lobster red, though he had not been known to be physically abusive.

  ‘He hasn’t laid his hands on you, Laura, has he?’ Bridget never believed in beating about the bush. She wasn’t one for pussyfooting around, especially when she was up to her ears in unfinished work.

  ‘No, nothing like that, but...’ Laura was going pink in the face and her fingers were so agitated it was beginning to annoy Bridget.

  ‘So what’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘Come on, out with it. I’ve got to get finished here before I do my shift.’

  Laura swallowed hard. ‘He’s asked me to marry him, Bridget. I don’t know what to tell him.’

  Bridget’s eyes widened and her mouth cracked open into a broad smile. ‘That’s some problem you’ve got there.’

  ‘Oh, don’t laugh, Bridget. He’s expecting an answer when I go back to the farm tomorrow night.’

  ‘Aye, well it’s not something I can help you with, is it?’

  ‘What would you do?’

  ‘Me? I’m not like you, Laura. He wouldn’t dream of asking me to marry him.’

  ‘But if he did?’

  ‘I can’t really answer that. I’d have to be desperate, I suppose, but even then...no, I don’t think I’d accept his proposal. As I say, I’m not you.’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ Laura lowered her head and rested it on her hands. ‘Oh, my Lord, what should I do?’

  ‘He’s more than twice your age, but he’s not short of a penny, so you’ll not starve.’ Bridget was trying to give Laura some positive thoughts, but she could see it wasn’t working. ‘He’s not all that bad looking and his bark’s probably worse than his bite. Do you care for him, Laura?’

  ‘Oh, no! Not at all, but...’ Laura raised her head and her cheeks we’re wet with tears. ‘It’s just...I don’t want to grow old without...you know... I’m lonely, Bridget. I...I need somebody.’

  ‘Don’t we all,’ Bridget said, her thoughts straying in the direction of her beloved Billy. He was locked behind bars with no sign of a reprieve or parole, and him refusing to see her. ‘But we can’t always have what we want, can we? Not in the real world, and certainly not in a world that’s at war.’

  ‘If only Billy hadn’t killed that awful Patrick Flynn,’ Laura said suddenly, thumping her fist on the table and making cups and saucers rattle. ‘He would have married me, wouldn’t he? You knew, didn’t you Bridget, that he was in love with me?’

  Bridget stared at the other girl and felt her blood run cold. Her heart skipped a beat then thudded in her chest so that when she finally spoke her voice shook discernibly.

  ‘Laura...I don’t know what to say, but...’ She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. How was she going to tell Laura that if Billy’s heart belonged to anybody, then it belonged to her, Bridget Maguire? But Laura didn’t give her the opportunity to speak further.

  ‘You see, Bridget,’ Laura said. ‘Silly as it sounds, I think Billy was always in love with me, even when he was a little boy. I could see it and I tried to ignore it, but when he grew up...well, I told myself I was being foolish. I mean, he was years younger than me and we come from different backgrounds, but... Oh, Bridget, I have so many regrets. And now he’s in prison and...’

  ‘And if you loved him you would go and visit him,’ Bridget said. ‘Why don’t you, Laura?’

  Laura’s expression revealed the revulsion she felt at going anywhere near a prison. Her reduced circumstances had not altered the way she saw life. She still had that old family snobbish pride in her that would always come to the fore.

  ‘I...I wrote to him, once,’ she said. ‘But I couldn’t find the right words to say how I felt. And now, I don’t know how I feel any more. I mean...he’s a criminal, and even when he comes out of prison he...well, he’ll always be an ex-convict, won’t he?’

  Bridget stared at her and sighed. ‘I can’t believe you said that, Laura,’ she said. ‘Especially after what he did for you.’

  Laura’s eyebrows went up and her shoulders with them. ‘Well, it’s true. Could you see yourself living with a man who’s been in prison?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, Laura,’ said Bridget, meeting Laura’s gaze unwaveringly, ‘I could. If that man was Billy. He should never have been put away and everybody knows that, except the damned stupid jury.’

  ‘Yes...well, everybody can’t think the same, I suppose.’ Looking thoughtful, Laura sat down at the kitchen table and her fingers beat a monotonous rhythm on its surface. ‘You know what, Bridget, I think I’ll accept Edward Harvey’s proposal. It’s got to be better than this, hasn’t it?’

  As she spoke, Laura’s eyes swept the little kitchen Bridget worked so hard to make cosy and comfortable. She took Laura in when she had nowhere else to go, looked after her, helped her, and supported her. This was Bridget’s home and she was proud of it. Laura’s words were a cutting insult.

  ‘Yes, Laura, I’m sure you’re right,’ Bridget said. Mr Harvey isn’t a bad man. He may be a bit harsh, but he’s fair, by all accounts, and honest.’

  ‘Yes.’ A bright smile of hope was spreading over Laura’s long, thin face. ‘And, as you say, he’s not exactly penniless, either. I’m sure he would want a wife who could do him proud.’

  ‘You’d be perfect,’ Bridget told her, biting her tongue before she could say what she was really thinking. How dare the woman cast aspersions on Billy like that after he saved her life? Billy had spent a lifetime worshipping her from afar. What a waste. What a ruddy waste!

  Bridget rose to her feet, reached for her coat and her bag and walked on heavy feet to the back door.

  ‘You off to the munitions factory? God, I don’t know how you stand it mingling with all those rough girls. And you come home smelling like an old potboiler. I can tell you, I’m going to get married and have a baby as soon as I can. That way, at least, I won’t have
to shovel out any more manure. Mr Harvey will see to that.’

  Bridget gave her a pained look.

  ‘I hope it all works out for you, Laura,’ she said.

  Laura rushed over to her and gave her a brief hug. ‘Oh, thank you! I hope I can rely on you, Bridget. You know, to help out with the wedding breakfast?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bridget with a weak smile. ‘Yes, of course you can.’

  * * *

  As Bridget made her way across town to the munitions factory where she spent hour upon hour making screws and rivets for Army issue rifles, she couldn’t get Billy out of her mind. It hurt so much he had turned away from her. She didn’t know if, at the bottom of him, he still had those childhood dreams of Laura. If he expected Laura to be waiting for him when he was eventually released, he would be in for a sad disappointment. The thought of the pair of them ever getting together had been the cause of many a sleepless night and troubled days dealing with a heavy heart when she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity.

  Always, at the bottom of her, Bridget knew that what she really felt was jealousy. Until recently she had never dared to admit it, even to herself. Not until that memorable day after she had been abused by Patrick Flynn, when Billy took her into his arms, cradling her like a hurt child, and not once did he put a finger wrong on her.

  Yes, that was when she knew, without a doubt, that she not only loved Billy as a friend, but also that she was in love with him. And now that the way was clear to her, Billy was cutting himself off, chasing her away. It was enough to make any woman lose heart. Any woman, that was, except Bridget Maguire.

  Bloody men! Bridget swore under her breath as the factory gates clanged shut behind her, very much like the gates of the prison had done. She ignored the snide remarks of her workmates and a cautionary warning about being late from her supervisor and got on with the job. It was a small, but essential task all in the name of helping her country to win the war.

  ‘You nearly got locked out this morning,’ the girl on the next bench shouted above the noise of the girlish chatter and the cacophony of machinery noises. ‘Your man keep you in bed, eh?’

  ‘She hasn’t got a man, Phyllis,’ mouthed another, older woman in a matching headscarf tied, as they all wore them, as a turban to protect their hair and them from accidents. ‘He’s in prison, isn’t he, luv?’

  ‘Yes, but he...’ Bridget started to plead Billy’s defence, but changed her mind when another woman chipped in.

  ‘And I bet he wasn’t guilty. They all say that, of course, bloody liars.’

  ‘Prison!’ The first young woman, made her mouth heard, loud and clear. ‘And I bet he thinks he’s got it hard. God in Heaven. They’ve got it ruddy easy in there compared to our blokes fighting the bliddy Nazis.’

  ‘Ignore her, pet,’ said the second woman. ‘She’s just heard that her hubbie’s gone missing over France. Have you got any bairns, Bridget?’

  Bridget looked at her, wishing that she could say yes. It would have been a bit of Billy on the outside and something for him to look forward to when they eventually let him out. Something real and solid and good to come home to. She would have put up with the shame of not being married, the humiliation of being shunned and pointed at in the street and being called names. People were already muttering behind their hands and had been ever since Billy moved in with her. In their eyes Bridget was still, and always would be, the daughter of a whore.

  Bridget’s eyes stung with tears, but she blinked them away. She always got emotional when she thought of her mother. How Colleen would have been up in arms at what was happening to Billy, she thought. She would have fought tooth and nail to persuade them to set him free. Colleen wouldn’t have sat back and done nothing. She might have been a whore, but she was a good person with a heart of pure gold, always on the side of justice, no matter what. If Colleen had had her way, that murdering bastard Patrick would have been hung long ago and Colleen herself would still be alive.

  ‘Damn him!’ Bridget hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but the woman next to her, mistaking er meaning, turned and patted her shoulder.

  ‘Aye, pet, that’s right. You get good and angry. It’s the only way to get through life when you’re married to a no-good hardened sinner.’

  * * *

  On her next day off Bridget decided to have one more attempt at visiting Billy. After her last visit he had had time to reconsider and might just be regretting his decision to tell her not to return. She gave her name and his to the prison warden on visitor duty and waited with the other visitors, her heart fluttering in anticipation.

  The prisoners filed in and settled themselves behind the barred screen, some of them talking animatedly with their visitors, others subdued and silent with downcast eyes. Whatever crimes they had committed, it didn’t show. They were all just men behind bars, restricted, punished, sad, pathetic. Some of them may have committed the foulest murders; some may have burgled or dabbled in bribery and corruption. It was hard to distinguish one from the other with their shaven heads and the shapeless prison suits they were required to wear.

  Some minutes passed and Bridget was the only one left standing. She hovered nervously, waiting for Billy to arrive. On the other side of the security screen there was an empty space. She glanced at the clock, then at the grim-faced guard standing by the door. He didn’t look too approachable, so she decided to hang on a few minutes more before asking him what was keeping Billy.

  She waited and waited. Billy didn’t come. People were starting to leave, looking at her with sympathetic eyes. One woman touched her hand in passing;

  ‘Never mind, pet. He’s probably been a naughty boy and got himself put in solitary confinement. That’s the best that can happen to him. It’s safer in there.’

  Bridget wanted to ask the woman what she meant, but there wasn’t time. A phone on the wall shrilled and the guard whipped off the receiver and spoke into it at length. Bridget decided to give up and started to sidle past him as he finished his conversation. He held up a hand, staying her progress, and fixed her with a stony stare.

  ‘You William Flynn’s visitor, love?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bridget said with a nod, her voice small and scared in her constricted throat. ‘He...he must have been delayed. I’ll come back tomorrow, if I can.’

  ‘I shouldn’t bother, pet,’ the guard took off his cap and wiped a grubby handkerchief around his perspiring face. ‘I just got word that he’s in the prison hospital. Got beaten up pretty badly last night apparently. They’re not sure he’ll make it.’

  Bridget froze. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth, which felt strangely paralysed. Blackness started to crowd in on her, pinpricked with many dazzling stars. As her legs started to give way, the guard grabbed her by the arm and pushed her towards a chair. She slumped thankfully into it.

  ‘You his wife, are you?’ The guard stood over her, big and menacing in appearance, though he had spoken to her softly enough. ‘You Mrs Flynn?’

  ‘No...yes...I mean...’ All colour was drained from Bridget’s face as she looked up and saw the moon face of the guard through the blur. ‘Are you sure? I mean, are you sure it’s Billy?’

  ‘Aye, pet. There’s only the one William Flynn in here. He’s the one they all call Billy Big Boots, isn’t he?’ She nodded dumbly. ‘Well, it seems he got a bit too big for them boots of his, going up against one of the old lags. Didn’t like what was happening to him, so he got stroppy. The lag has lots of friends. They sorted Billy out.’

  ‘C-can I see him, do you think?’

  ‘No point. He’s in a coma. If he comes out of it he’ll be back in his cell right away. If not, well, you’ll get his body for burying.’ The guard’s voice softened slightly and he touched her on the shoulder. ‘Go on, pet. Go home. They’ll let the next of kin know how things go.’

  ‘I am Billy’s next of kin,’ Bridget said huskily. ‘He doesn’t have anybody else.’

  It seemed to take forever to get home
that day. And there was Laura waiting for her. She had done something to her hair and put on a little powder and lipstick and was looking quite pretty for a change. But one look at Bridget’s face wiped her smile away.

  ‘Bridget, you look like a ghost! Whatever’s happened? Did you see Billy?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Some nasty buggers have beaten him up. They say...’ Bridget collapsed on their overstuffed horsehair sofa and put her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with sobs that forced their way out of her. ‘Oh, Laura! They say he’s in a coma and... They think he’s going to die.’

  ‘No!’ Laura’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, no, it can’t be true. Bridget, say it’s not true, for God’s sake.’

  ‘God had nothing to do with it,’ Bridget told her coldly. ‘I’d like to get my hands on the ones that hurt our Billy. I’d show them what hurting is really like.’

  She looked around futilely for something to throw, for words in these circumstances were simply not enough. Laura sat down beside her and flung her arms about her shoulders, hugging her tightly.

  ‘He’ll be all right, Bridget. You’ll see.’

  ‘Will I?’ Bridget shook her head sadly. ‘Oh, I hope you’re right, Laura.’

  She got up, feeling heavy and stiff, like an old woman, and went to her room to be alone. In there she could think of Billy, pray for him, even though she wasn’t sure that there was a god. If there were, why would he let such awful things happen to people? Why bring down his wrath on the head of Billy Flynn, who was a better man than most? In fact-, there was none better.

  ‘Oh, Billy, love...’ She hugged the carved bedpost until her fingers grew numb and the bones of her knuckles shone through. At that moment the air raid siren wailed and its morbid sound sliced through Bridget like an ice-cold knife going through her heart. ‘You’ve got to pull through. Live, Billy, oh, please, please, live!’

  Chapter Thirteen