by Carol Rivers
Birdie stood beside him. The Kirby boys were dragging a wooden box into the road with wheels attached to the front and back. A long string was tied to the front and several of them towed it whilst others sat in the back.
‘Look at them!’ Pat exclaimed enviously, peering over their shoulders. ‘I’ll bet Willie’s chanced it out on his bike, too.’
‘So I suppose you’re off as well?’ said Birdie, knowing that wild horses wouldn’t keep him in now.
‘I’ll be back for tea.’ He pecked her on the cheek and was gone.
‘Remember, it’s Christmas. Don’t get into trouble.’
‘Better get a move on, meself,’ said Harry, lifting his jacket from the back of the wooden dining chair. ‘Thank you for a very pleasant day.’
Birdie didn’t want to be left alone with her father, she knew he would go to sleep and she would be driven to sewing, just to keep busy and prevent herself from thinking about Don. She was about to ask Harry if he’d like to stay to tea when a strange noise outside made them all return to the window. A tall, motorized vehicle with two large brass headlamps shuddered violently to a halt.
‘What the dickens is that?’ said Wilfred, drawing the lace curtain aside.
‘Well, well,’ murmured Harry in such a way that Birdie edged herself closer to the window to get a better look.
A figure jumped down from the driving seat, positioned under a wavy wooden fringe attached to the top of the van. The man was dressed in a dark, weatherproof overcoat and wore big leather gloves and goggles. Birdie narrowed her eyes as he stood on the pavement and slid the goggles to his forehead. His back was turned to her as he inspected the words painted on the side of the vehicle.
A gasp of astonishment squeezed from her throat. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ she gasped. ‘It’s Don!’
‘Well, I’ll be darned,’ said Wilfred. ‘What’s that he’s driving?’
‘It’s . . . it’s a . . . oh, well, I can see what it says.’ Birdie’s heart was racing with excitement. ‘It says, “Thorne’s General Store, Poplar. No order too small or too large. Every need catered for.” ’ She twisted quickly to look at her father. ‘It’s one of them newfangled delivery vans,’ she burst out, hardly able to contain herself. ‘And he’s come – my man has come – all the way over here in it to see me! Oh, what a shock! I’m all of a tremble.’
Birdie glanced back at the sight, which was now attracting the children. She watched Don brush the rain from the brass headlamp and shoo one of the Kirby boys away. Then, turning towards the house, he saw her and raised his gloved hand in salute.
Donald Thorne shook himself theatrically as he stood on the doorstep, making certain that Birdie noticed the way he tapped the rain from his new gauntlet gloves. He stamped his polished leather driving boots in a very professional manner. He was, after all, now the proud owner of a commercial Daimler that had cost him more than a year’s salary, and a few more pounds to boot in fuel and proper sign-writing. Well, the money hadn’t exactly come from his wallet, but from, in his mother’s case, an old Gladstone bag made of tapestry, a secret he was not meant to know, but one his father had divulged.
‘Your mother is a clever woman,’ Ted Thorne had told him in a rare moment of intimacy. ‘She don’t trust the country with our money, not in times of conflict when the nation is hard up. So half our takings goes to the bank, the other half in her Gladstone. It’s all nicely tucked away there . . .’ his father had stopped to cough. ‘I’m telling you this, son, in case . . . well, just in case.’
The ‘in case’, Don understood, had alluded to the possibility that he might long outlive his father. On taking over the store, Don had expected to be enlightened by his mother that funds were close at hand, but he never had been informed, though the Gladstone was never far from her reach.
It was Lydia, though, who made up the accounts and had unfortunately become locked in disagreement with Aggie. ‘Your mother removes the takings,’ Lydia had complained, ‘and replaces a lesser sum.’ With cash being siphoned off, Don had kept his guilty secret, but Lydia, in her ignorance, had urged him to stand up for leadership of the business.
It was all very unnecessary, Don felt. And there was he, caught in the middle. Although he secretly took Lydia’s side, Aggie stubbornly persisted in keeping him under her thumb. And now he found himself here, prompted by a quarrel with his mother last night over Brigid.
‘Happy Christmas!’ he said, giving a little flourish of his gloved hand. ‘I thought I would pay a seasonal visit and show you our new delivery vehicle. It has made a welcome improvement to our busy schedule over the holiday period. Deliveries and so forth, you see.’ He was pleased at the look of surprise on her face. His mother had been right: the new purchase was making a good impression.
‘I didn’t expect to see you,’ she said, and Don shrugged.
‘Well, a good man can’t be put off,’ he replied awkwardly. He was about to step in, when a tall figure emerged and brought him to a halt.
‘Afternoon,’ said the lodger, who in Don’s estimation looked a rough fellow, but was smart enough to have latched on to Brigid in his absence. It was clear, just as Aggie had shrewdly suggested after hearing of the meeting in the Dock Road, that this fly-by-night was eager to get his feet planted firmly under the Connors’ table.
‘Son, you’ll lose the one woman who is just right for this business,’ Aggie had warned him. ‘She’s not too bright to boss you or ask damn-fool questions, like some I could mention. And she’ll not mind turning her hand to the chores even when she’s raising a family and caring dutifully for her husband. She ain’t spoiled, and other than her religion and idiot brother – problems we can deal with easy once you’re wed – she’ll be as reliable as clockwork.’
Don had been shocked to hear this. His mother had never made much of an effort towards Brigid Connor, but since the upset with Lydia, he’d noticed a distinct change of attitude. And after that dreadful scene last night when Aggie had made it quite clear she had no intention of moving over for a younger woman and that his inheritance stood in peril, he had come to the conclusion that opposing Aggie would prove a serious mistake.
So, as much as he had argued his doubt on marriage to Brigid, the Dock Road incident had brought Aggie out in the open. She insisted she would have Brigid trained up in no time at all. And after the marriage, they would easily knock the Pope out of her, well before the babies came along.
Don had not argued. If his mother spoke without sentiment, her reasoning was nevertheless sound. Aggie held the purse strings. And those purse strings, half of which was in the bank and the other half in the tapestry Gladstone, were his hard-earned nest egg. They were compensation for the loss of his career at the railways. And he’d see none of it if he made an argument for Lydia and her way of doing things.
‘I’ll be seeing you later,’ said the lodger to Birdie as he left. ‘Don’t venture out in the rain. I’ll fill you a scuttle afore I leave for work in the morning.’
Don scowled into the dark, challenging gaze meeting his. Damn the man! What right had he to be talking to Brigid that way? Their engagement hadn’t been called off! She was not a single woman.
Forced to step back, Don felt a shower of rain on his face. ‘Confounded weather!’
‘You’d better come in then.’ She stood back and gave him a cool smile.
Don entered and slid off his gloves and wet goggles. He glanced along the passage. ‘And your father and Patrick?’ he enquired, hoping the boy was out. There was no love lost between them. He wanted Birdie on her own.
‘You’ve just missed Pat, who’s ridden out to call for Willie. Dad’s in the parlour. Look in and say hello, but then we’ll sit in the kitchen as he’ll be wanting his forty winks.
Don nodded his assent, undid the buckle of his damp driving coat and hung it on the stand. Straightening his tie and collar and the lapels of his best suit, he paid his respects to Wilfred, confident in the knowledge his plan had worked.
&n
bsp; Chapter 21
Birdie set out two of the best china cups and saucers, aware of the tremble in her fingers. She could hardly believe Don was here, on Christmas Day, when surely his family were expecting his company? Could it be that he was eager to see her? But no, she mustn’t let him see her pleasure, though she wanted just to hold him in her arms. She wasn’t to be let down and picked up again, like some plaything!
Birdie sat beside him, pouring tea and adding the sugar as carefully as she could. Feeling his nearness, the warmth of his body, the sight of his dear face with that middle parting of hair, ruffled a bit from the sliding off of those goggles, oh, her heart was hammering!
‘Another sugar, perhaps?’ She hadn’t forgotten he was prone to a sweet tooth.
‘On this occasion, why not?’ He gave her such a smile as to turn her stomach over in a somersault.
‘This occasion?’ Birdie glanced under her lashes as she spooned an extra helping. ‘You mean, the showing off of that fine vehicle, I suppose?’ she asked uninterestedly.
‘No, of course not. Though I have to agree it is very fine . . .’ He stretched his hand across to cover hers. ‘Birdie, we must resolve this silly tiff.’
She could hardly respond for eagerness. The touch of him had goose bumps prickling all over her skin. ‘I agree. It’s not right, us not being . . . friends.’
‘Then why are we apart if we both think the same?’
She swallowed, allowing herself to gaze into his eyes. ‘There are one or two points on which we differ,’ she answered carefully, hardly able to believe she wasn’t flinging herself into his arms and telling him that nothing on earth could ever keep them apart. Not even being caught, twice in a row, with another woman on your arm.
He gave her a thoughtful ‘hmm’. Did this mean he agreed but felt disinclined to comment?
‘The picture from my side,’ she continued briskly, ‘is that it seems to me you have . . . other commitments.’ She swallowed again, not wanting to say Lydia’s name outright. ‘Commitments that might veer you away from marriage.’
‘Commitments to prevent me marrying?’ he protested in a bewildered tone, his eyes now seeming to change from green to hazel brown. ‘What made you think that?’
Birdie couldn’t help herself. ‘I thought it when I saw you walking out in the Dock Road with those commitments.’
‘What nonsense!’ He dropped his cup with a loud chink into the saucer. ‘You can’t be talking of Lydia and little James?’ His expression was wounded, astonished. ‘I was simply doing a good service for my sister-in-law and nephew. A perfectly innocent service. How can you think otherwise?’
‘Because she was on your arm and I wasn’t.’
An astonished but endearing smile formed on his lips. ‘Oh, my dearest, I am truly flattered! Flattered, by your affectionate but misplaced assumption.’ He held up his hand as if she were about to interrupt. ‘But I can assure you, walking out with Lydia was of small comfort to me in your absence. And yes, I admit, I would have spoken at length had it not been for that . . . that fellow—’
‘Harry?’ Birdie was overwhelmed at the firm grasp of his fingers around hers. But she managed a small defence. ‘We was only doing the same as you, walking out on a fine afternoon.’
He gave a little cough. ‘Perhaps. But it was embarrassing, seeing my fiancée in the company of another man.’
The fact that Lydia had been on his arm was forgotten in the mention of the word ‘fiancée’. Birdie had heard this exotic word so rarely that it sent her into raptures.
Don forcefully caught hold of her wrists, making her start. ‘My darling, I trust you completely, as I hope you trust me. And to show how much I think of you and want to make up, I’m willing to put all this aside. Yes, even the matter of your brother, a subject that unsettles us both. So we shall not touch on it again. Let it be put to rest from this moment and, and . . .’ He suddenly reached into his pocket, and, drawing out a small purple box, pressed it firmly into her hands. ‘And from this moment on, let’s have no other, think of no other – except each other.’
Birdie stared at the box in her palm. It was weathered with age, but it had a small clasp that easily loosened. ‘Don! Oh! Don!’ she cried when it was open, staring incredulously at the ring inside. ‘Is this for me?’
‘For no other, my dear.’
She lifted the slim gold band from the faded cloth. It bore a cluster of three white twinkling stones. ‘This is beautiful, so it is! Look at the sparkle from such tiny things!’
‘They are diamonds, of course.’
‘Diamonds!’ Birdie had only ever seen diamonds in shop windows.
‘The ring is a family heirloom,’ Don said proudly. ‘Mother was certain you would like it.’
‘Oh, Don, your mother would give it away?’
‘She approves of you, Brigid.’
‘Oh, let me catch my breath!’
‘Try it on.’ He reached for the ring as she held out her finger. Sadly it was far too large. But it was the thought, the meaning, the word ‘fiancée’ that was sending her mad with excitement. And the fact that it was Aggie’s precious heirloom, denoting to Birdie that Aggie was all in favour.
‘No matter about the size,’ Don said dismissively, sliding it off again and dropping it in the box. ‘I’ll have it made smaller.’
‘Oh, I don’t want to let it go!’
‘You’ll have it again soon.’ He took her in his arms and kissed her, and Birdie felt dizzy with happiness. His kiss was passionate and his hands explored her body, making every inch of her tingle. She kept her eyes closed, praying that this wasn’t a dream, that she was really engaged to be married and that, by a miracle, Don had reconsidered on the subject of Frank.
‘Brigid,’ he whispered insistently, ‘kiss me again.’
She gave herself up to his embrace, as he caressed her in bold ways he had never done before. She allowed him to unfasten the top button of her blouse and touch her, adding more desire to the moment for her, so that she would have done anything he’d asked if they had been alone.
With difficulty Birdie fought to keep her senses about her. When a shout came from the parlour, she fell back on her chair, intoxicated with desire.
‘It’s Dad,’ she gasped. ‘He’s woken up and wants his tea.’
Don rearranged his tie and coughed. ‘So we are settled, then, Brigid?’
‘Yes, we are settled.’
‘I shall return my attention to a specific date.’
Birdie wondered briefly at Lydia’s feelings when she heard of this. ‘Don, are we still to be married by licence?’
He sat back sharply. ‘I have made allowances for your brother. I think it only fair I am to be allowed this.’
She sighed softly and nodded. ‘I should still like me bridesmaids, though. Their dresses would be at my expense as Enid and Emily are such good little girls. They’d not be any trouble and it’d be such a delight for Flo and Reg.’
He raised his eyebrows wearily. ‘If you must.’
‘Oh, thank you, my love!’ Even as she said this, a fleeting sadness came over her. She would not be married in a beautiful white dress, nor make her vows in front of Father Flynn. But she couldn’t have everything. This morning when she had opened her eyes, her loneliness on Christmas Day had seemed unbearable. Now, only a few hours later, her beloved Don had come to claim her, and the world was almost perfect again.
‘Now, I must speak to your father.’ He took her hand and, after checking his pocket, the pocket in which her ring – once Aggie’s – was gently nestled, they went together to the parlour.
‘You have my consent, lad,’ said Wilfred as Birdie sat with Don. Stroking his salt-and-pepper sideburns, her father added, ‘And I wish you both happiness.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘When are you tying the knot?’
Don shifted uneasily beside her. ‘We’ve made no firm arrangement, Mr Connor. But it will be soon.’ Birdie knew he was reluctant to break the
news that the wedding was not to be in church.
‘Her mother, if she were alive,’ said Wilfred, ‘would want to know all the details. And she’d be putting a fine spread on and getting everything fixed up with the priest. But as I ain’t a churchgoer, you’ll have to do that yourself, girl.’
Birdie looked guiltily away. ‘Show me dad the ring, Don.’
Wilfred took the box and opened it. ‘Very fine indeed.’
‘Nothing but the best for Brigid,’ Don said, smiling.
Wilfred gave a little cough and snapped the lid shut. ‘You’ll have your mother’s wedding ring on the day, Brigid. She’d want you to have it as you walk down the aisle.’
Birdie felt another deep pang. It was to be such a sacrifice to give up a church wedding. Wilfred expected of her what Bernadette would have wanted. What would her mother have to say about this if she had been alive? Birdie knew, as clear as if Bernadette was speaking now. According to Church law, a man and woman weren’t wed if not joined together by a priest in the holy sacrament of matrimony.
‘Well, girl,’ said Wilfred then, ‘this is not before time. You’ve known each other long enough. Am I right to assume you’ll be leaving home and living at the store with your husband?’
Before Birdie could answer, Don spoke. ‘It will be our home, yes, Mr Connor.’
‘Thought as much.’
‘But don’t worry,’ Birdie put in hastily, ‘I’ll be calling round to help out.’
‘We’ll not be a trouble to you, lass,’ her father assured her.
Birdie thought of his loneliness. Who would cook the dinners, sweep the floors and dust the shelves? Who would do the washing? She would have to begin at once with Pat, training him, teaching him a little cooking. It was not impossible. And she could help still, when on her free day from the shop. And she’d put money to the rent, somehow. Only Pat would have to increase his share to meet the outgoings.