A Winter Love Song

by Rita Bradshaw

  Nelly smiled now as she pictured her grandmother. The diminutive and genteel exterior had hidden a fierce Boadicea spirit. ‘Decide what is worth fighting for in life,’ her grandmother had said more than once. ‘Unimportant issues you can let pass you by. And no matter what other compromises you feel called on to make, marry for love, Eleanor. I loved your dear grandfather with all my heart. I would have married him whatever his station in life, but it was most convenient he happened to be disgracefully wealthy,’ she’d added with a twinkle in her eye. ‘But even the most successful unions have their ups and downs, and you will find that love covers a multitude of sins.’

  And so she’d chosen her first battle and refused to go away to finishing school. For the next twelve months until she was eighteen and could claim her inheritance according to her grandmother’s will, she’d endured her parents’ displeasure at what they called her ungratefulness. She’d confined herself to her suite of rooms as much as possible with just her beloved dogs as companions, only making an appearance for dinner or when she was required to attend a social function. Nine times out of ten these had been arranged by her parents with a view to finding their difficult youngest daughter a husband. But she had made plans.

  Nelly sighed. Standing up, she walked to her bedroom door and looked out into the living area where the dogs were soundly sleeping, curled up together in a tangle of paws and heads. Once she was eighteen, she’d secretly commissioned the buying and conversion of her home. After going out on the road with the friendly car mechanic who had overseen the conversion, and who was tickled pink by the whole thing, she had bought her driving licence, packed a small suitcase, taken her dogs and told her parents she was leaving. Even now, she didn’t allow herself to think of the things they had said in the terrible row that had followed, but she had left knowing she would never see them or her old home again.

  And she had never regretted it. She let her gaze wander round the shadowed interior of her home. She had driven away from the family estate one sunny spring day not knowing where she was going, but only that she was free. From a little girl she had spent hours playing with her dogs and training them to do party tricks, but over the twelve months while she’d been biding her time, she had taken their training up several notches. Only one of the original dogs was left, an old white poodle by the name of Dora who was too ancient to do anything more than snooze the days away, and she was dreading having to say goodbye to her when the time came, as it surely must. Much as she loved her other dogs, Dora was special.

  Her eyes filling with tears again, Nelly turned back into the bedroom. She had to pull herself together. She wasn’t melancholy by nature; this was silly. Nothing had changed in the last twenty-four hours, not really. John was still her friend and he had never been anything more than that, so it wasn’t as if she had lost anything, although somehow it felt that way. She was what she had always determined to be – self-governing and liberated and not beholden to anyone.

  She still had most of her grandmother’s legacy tucked safely away in a bank account, a nest egg for the future. Enough to buy a modest property somewhere with a little garden for the dogs. If any of the fair folk knew how much her grandmother had left her they’d consider her a rich woman, but compared to her family’s wealth, the amount was tiny. But it was enough for her and her canine family. Yes, enough to be autonomous. And she was grateful for that, truly grateful, but somehow she had never envisaged ending her days as an old maid.

  She pulled a face at herself for using a term she hated. That was society’s label for single women, and as was so often the case, there wasn’t an equally disparaging one for ageing single men.

  She plumped down again on the little stool in front of the built-in dressing table, peering at herself as she checked for any wrinkles on her smooth clear skin. She was fortunate that she had inherited her mother and grandmother’s youthful genes, but one day those insidious telltale signs would creep up on her. And she wouldn’t mind that, not if John had fallen in love with her. She’d always believed that in time, once he had finished grieving . . .

  Stop it. Suddenly Nelly was angry for the self-pity that had overwhelmed her in the last few hours.

  She was lucky, she told herself firmly. In truth, she had led something of a charmed life over the years since leaving her parents’ home, a life she had chosen and made happen. She had to count her blessings. That’s what her grandmama would say, she could almost hear her. ‘Count your blessings, Eleanor. Chin up, girl.’

  Nelly gave a hiccup of a laugh that was more of a sob. She’d purposely determined to present herself as a woman with no past when she’d joined the showmen and their families. And such was their culture that they’d respected her right to privacy. Among the fair community she had no social position to live up to, and no one questioned her right to live as she pleased. She loved the variety and freedom of the travelling life – it was as though she’d been born to it – and whatever inconveniences there were she took in her stride.

  Yes, she was lucky, she reiterated more strongly. And if it wasn’t for this love for John, she would be truly happy. But she was done with crying for the moon; she had to face the fact that he would never want her and get on with her life. She closed her eyes, shutting out the sad-faced woman in the mirror. But oh, she didn’t think she’d ever felt as unloved and unlovely as she did tonight, not even in her lonely childhood.

  Bonnie knew something was different as soon as she opened her eyes. Her da always woke her with a hot mug of milky cocoa, made just the way she liked it with a creamy froth on the top. He’d draw back the curtains at the side of her bed, make a pronouncement about the state of the weather and grin at her, and then they’d have breakfast together once she was dressed. But today the wagon was quiet and still.

  She slid out of bed, her stomach fluttering even as she told herself not to be silly. Her father slept at the rear of the wagon on a bed under the roof built over mirrored cupboards where they kept their clothes and other stuff, but now she could see that it didn’t look as though it had been slept in. It was one of her jobs to tidy their beds each morning, putting her bedding away and then setting the table, after which she’d climb the little ladder to where her father slept and smooth the sheets and coverlet. But today it looked exactly as she’d left it the day before.

  If the weather was fine, her da would have already lit the coals in their little cast-iron brazier outside and have the porridge simmering in the black cooking pot; otherwise, breakfast would be cooking on the wagon’s tiny stove. Either way, it was nearly always ready for eating, but not today.

  After poking her head out of the top half of the stable door of the wagon and trying in vain to catch sight of her da, Bonnie closed it again and quickly got dressed.

  Where was he? she thought sickly. He must have had an accident in the town. He would never stay out all night, she knew that. Something was terribly amiss. He had been late home before, sometimes one or two in the morning, but never later than that.

  She had rushed her dressing and realized with a little sound of irritation deep in her throat that she had put her apron on inside out. That righted, she opened the door of the wagon but then, in spite of her agitation, she stood at the top of the wooden steps for a moment. Who should she tell about her da? He might be back any minute and he wouldn’t want her to cause a hoo-ha, especially after the barney with her grandma. Margarita would make the most of the fact that he was late back. Oh, she knew how her grandma’s mind worked all right. But if her da had been able, he would have returned from the town. She knew that, she knew it. So this was serious.

  Her heart thudding fit to burst and her head whirling, she stood for a few more moments, and then it came to her. Miss Nelly. She’d know what to do. And Miss Nelly didn’t like her grandma any more than she did. Bonnie didn’t consciously add here, and Miss Nelly loves my da, but the knowledge was the impetus that sent her flying to the lorry parked a little distance from the other wagons and living van
s. And when Miss Nelly opened the door, it was the floodgate to Bonnie’s tears.

  Every minute of the last two weeks had crawled by, weighed down with the terrible heaviness of misery and anguish and the pain of not knowing. Bonnie took a gulp of air as she sat listlessly on the steps of the wagon, her sorrow so great she had to remind herself to breathe.

  It was as though her da had vanished from the face of the earth. She had heard Ham say that very thing after one of the times he and a group of the travellers had returned from the town, their search fruitless once again. No one had seen hide nor hair of John since the night he’d gone missing, or if they had, they weren’t admitting to it.

  It had been Miss Nelly who had insisted on the police being notified of his disappearance, and this alone had been enough to terrify Bonnie. Travellers never involved the law, whatever the crisis, and the fact that Miss Nelly had gone against them all and fetched the police herself had convinced Bonnie something catastrophic had befallen her da. And then her grandma had found the empty jewellery box that should have held her mam’s gold earrings and bracelets and necklaces. Bonnie’s hands clenched into fists at her side. Her grandma shouldn’t have been nosing about in her da’s wagon to start with, and then she’d tried to suggest her da had taken the jewellery and run off to pastures new.

  She’d gone for her grandma after that, biting and kicking and screaming, and it had been scant comfort that everyone had agreed that her da would never go off without her, because the alternative meant that someone had taken her mam’s jewellery and killed her da for it. That’s what the police had said.

  Bonnie looked across the campsite where morning fires were already lit outside some of the wagons, even though there were remaining streaks of charcoal in the dawn sky. There was no sound emerging from her grandma’s wagon as yet, though.

  She had insisted on remaining in her da’s wagon and had become hysterical when Ham and the others had tried to persuade her otherwise, so it had been agreed that the wagon would be moved next to her grandma’s. It had been the last thing she’d wanted but she’d been forced to compromise.

  She’d hoped Miss Nelly would suggest her da’s wagon be placed next to her van, but she hadn’t. Bonnie bit down on her bottom lip. She knew why, and it was all her grandma’s fault. If Margarita hadn’t accused her da of running off with her mam’s jewellery, she wouldn’t have shouted at her grandma that her da had told her he was trying to get enough money so they could live in a proper house and she could go to school. Her da would never leave her, she’d screamed at them all. He had plans for them both. It had been then that she’d become aware of Miss Nelly’s face, and the only way she could describe her expression was that she looked as though she had been punched when she wasn’t expecting it. And since then Miss Nelly hadn’t been herself.

  What was she going to do? It was a question she had been asking herself ever since that first morning when she had woken up and found her da wasn’t back from the town, but as yet she had no answer. Every minute of every day she was silently praying for her da to come home, for him to come striding into the campsite saying it had all been a big mistake and here he was, right as rain, but . . . Bonnie raised her eyes to the fresh morning sky. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling of sick dread that something terrible had happened to him. Everyone thought so – she could read it in their eyes, in their over-kind voices, in the way they were treating her as though she was poorly or something. Even her grandma wasn’t going for her the way she usually did, although that was down to Franco more than anything. She’d heard him telling her grandma to lay off or he’d give her what for, and his voice had been grim.

  ‘Bonnie?’

  As she heard her name being called she realized Ham was making his way towards her, and she stood up and jumped down the last two steps to face him. She liked Ham – the leader of the travellers had always been nice to her – but she sensed immediately that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. ‘My da? You’ve heard something about my da?’

  ‘No, no, lass.’ Ham watched the small body sag, and his voice was gentle when he said softly, ‘But it’s to do with your da I need to speak to you. We should have moved on from here a good few days ago, Bonnie. You know that, don’t you? And we can’t stay any longer. We’ve done everything we can to find him, and the law was here again yesterday and they’ve said they’ll send word if they find out anything.’

  Bonnie looked at him, horrified. ‘We can’t leave. Not without my da.’

  ‘We have to, lass. And he’ll know where to find us, now then.’

  ‘But they’ll stop looking for him, the police I mean. They won’t bother if we go.’ She knew the authorities had as little time for the fair folk as the travellers had for the law. When Miss Nelly had insisted on notifying them two weeks ago, she had heard some of the men muttering that it was pointless and that the law wouldn’t worry themselves about a missing traveller. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s how they’ll see it,’ one of the men had said. ‘They might go through the motions but they won’t lift a finger, you mark my words. And who wants them beggars sniffing about anyway?’

  She did, Bonnie thought now. She wanted the beggars sniffing about if it meant them finding her da.

  ‘Look, lass, it’s the police themselves who’ll get awkward if we stay any longer – me hands are tied. We have to move on, we’ve no choice. An’ your da’s a canny lad. Whatever’s happened, he’ll come out on top, don’t you fret.’

  Ham didn’t really believe that. The child and the seasoned showman regarded each other. It was Ham’s eyes that fell away from the sorrow in her deep blue ones and the grief that was evident in every line of her thin body.

  Aiming to comfort her in his own way, he said gruffly, ‘I’ll get one of the men to see to your da’s tent and load up, lass. He’ll harness up Rosie an’ drive your wagon for you till your da’s back, all right?’ Their horse Rosie was a placid, quiet animal who plodded uncomplainingly from camp to camp, pulling the living wagon and the cart that fixed behind it holding her da’s tent and equipment. ‘An’ your granny’ll take care of you in the meantime so you’re not on your own, Bonnie.’

  Her face said all too plainly what she thought of this last effort at reassurance, and now Ham hurried away without saying anything more. As he walked he was inwardly cursing John Lindsay, or to be more precise the gambling addiction that had probably done for him. Men were murdered and disposed of for a lot less than John had apparently had on him that night. One thing Ham was sure of was that John would never have abandoned his daughter of his own free will, so that left only one possible conclusion. Damn fool. Ham shook his head as he reached his own wagon. And now that poor little bairn was fatherless as well as motherless.

  The fair had packed up and moved to Whitburn a few miles up the coast over the last forty-eight hours, a journey Bonnie had endured in deepest misery. Ham had permission for a month’s extended stay there to take in the August Bank Holiday, and despite the Depression local communities made the best hay possible while the sun shone. To Bonnie the heatwave everyone was enjoying made her anguish and despair ten times worse. She didn’t care that the roundabouts, chairoplanes, swing boats, coconut shies, shooting range and all the other various tents and booths were so much easier to dismantle and reassemble when the weather was kind; she felt as though it should be cold and rainy and bleak because that was how she was feeling inside. All the girls in their summer dresses and straw hats, the happy smiling faces and screams of laughter and enjoyment, mocked her grief and desperation. Life was going on as though her da had never existed and it petrified her, and added to everything else, her grandma was now officially in charge of her. Ham had made this decree on the day of the move and no one argued with his decisions, so that was that.

  The only thing that brought Bonnie the faintest solace was her grandma telling her that over the next few weeks she was going to start singing and dancing regularly in the big tent. ‘You need to e
arn your keep,’ Margarita had stated coldly. ‘There’s Rosie’s feed, and your food and other expenses. If you insist on keeping your da’s wagon you’ll have to start paying one of the men to drive it till you’re old enough to handle Rosie, and there’ll be repairs and such in the winter to see to. You can’t expect me to pay. Do you understand, Bonita?’

  Bonnie had understood and she preferred it that way; she didn’t want to be beholden to her grandma for anything. She intended to keep her da’s wagon ready for when he came home. And he would; she found she had to keep believing that because the alternative was unthinkable. Most of the time she could manage to hold on to her hope in the days, which were always busy; it was the nights that were a battle. Then the panic and terror and overwhelming sense of missing her da would cause her to cry herself to sleep. But at least Miss Nelly was speaking to her again.

  Not that Miss Nelly had ever stopped, not really, Bonnie corrected herself as she sat in bed hugging her knees in the moonlight streaming through her little window. She had just been different. But then tonight, when Bonnie had been carrying a pail of water to where Rosie was tethered waiting for a drink, she’d seen Miss Nelly and told her how sorry she was that her old dog, Dora, had passed away that morning. She could tell Miss Nelly had been crying and she knew how much she’d loved Dora. Miss Nelly had hugged her and then they’d both cried together, although she wasn’t really crying for the dog but for her da. And Miss Nelly had seemed to know this, because after they’d dried their eyes, she had said, ‘Listen to me, Bonnie. If you need someone to talk to or help in any way, no matter what it is, my door is always open to you. Always. All right? Your father looked on me as his friend, just as I did – do – him,’ she’d corrected quickly, ‘so please don’t hesitate to come to me. And always remember that your father loves you very much. Your grandmother might say all sorts of things but you know the truth, don’t you?’