Lucy thought them quite unsuited. “That one’s trouble. He should drop her like a hot potato!” Closing the curtains, she pranced across the room on tippy-toe, emulating Patricia Carstairs, one hand on her hip, the other swanking by her side, mimicking the woman’s voice to perfection. “Oh darling! Won’t people be envious when they see us together in this?” She pitied the poor wretches who had no work and no money; to see a smart car passing by, occupied by that one with her nose in the air would be like a red rag to a bull.
Breaking into song, Lucy returned to her work, gave the large silver teapot another rub with the cloth, then the greatest of care replaced it in the cabinet, where she shifted the silverware about until the display was pleasing to the eye.
She now closed the door, took up a clean cloth from her basket and giving the door-glass a good polish, gave a sigh of relief. “All done for another week!”
A few minutes later, she was out of the house and running across the back lawns toward the fields. Now, as she rounded the brow of the hill, she heard the laughter from Barney’s house. Pausing, she took off her shoes, set off at the run and before long was at the gate of Overhill farmhouse. “Quick, Lucy!” Joanne was beckoning her. “Hurry!”
When the young woman ran into the garden, she saw little Jamie standing with his back to the trunk of the apple tree, arms wide and laughing as only a child can laugh. “He’s trying to walk all the way over to us unaided,” Joanne told Lucy. “Three times he’s started off and three times he’s fallen. I’ve stood him up again, but he loves this game, and he wants to carry on playing it.”
Lucy was delighted. Jamie was a good little walker now, but his gammy leg meant he often fell over. Falling to her knees, she opened her arms wide, coaxing the boy. “Come to your mammy, sweetheart.”
He stopped giggling and stared at her, as though he might be giving it some thought. Then he looked up to excitedly point into the skies, at a hawk hovering nearby. “Bird!” he shouted. “Big bird.”
Arms still wide, Lucy took a step nearer. “Look at me, Jamie. Come on, sweetheart.”
The child would have none of it. Completely ignoring her, he scoured the skies with his big bright eyes, one finger pointing as he slowly but surely slid downward, his back seemingly glued to the tree.
“Stay there, Lucy!” Running forward, Joanne propped him up again. “Try, sweetheart,” she urged the little man. Slowly she backed away, one hand up flat, as though it might dissuade him from sliding down again.
Standing next to Lucy, Joanne took a cooked sausage from the picnic hamper. “Ooh—look what I’ve got.” She waved the sausage from side to side. “If you want it, you’ll have to come and get it.”
Lucy laughed. “That’s a wicked thing to do.”
Suddenly the child was interested. He licked his lips and raising his arms, made an effort to shuffle forward. “He means it this time,” Joanne whispered. “He’ll do it now, you see if he doesn’t.”
And he didn’t, because when he spotted Barney appearing, he promptly sat down. “Leave the little fella alone.” Still in his work-clothes, his cap pulled forward, Barney stood beside the two women and looking at the boy asked, “What are they doing to you, eh?”
Lucy straightened up. “We’re trying to coax him to walk over here without falling over,” she answered. “Joanne said he tried and failed three times.”
“Is that right?” The smile he gave Joanne spoke volumes; even when he wasn’t saying he loved her, he still showed it—in his smile, in his eyes, in the way he always stood by her side—always there with her, even when he wasn’t.
“Well, he looks proper fed up now, and no mistake. Poor little bugger, you’ve stuck him up against a tree and now he can’t do nothing but sit down.” And that was exactly what Jamie had done. Sitting on the ground he was pulling the grass up and attempting to eat it.
“Go on then. Stand him up again, but this is the last attempt,” Barney insisted. “Looks to me like he’s had enough.” Tipping back his cap he stooped to one knee, and waited until Lucy had propped up the child. “Right then, Jamie, old son.” Looking the child in the eye, he said quietly, “You’re to take no notice o’ these women. They’re like all women the world over—nag, nag, nag. Anybody’d think you’d only got a minute to learn the walking, when truth being, you’ve got all the time in the world.” He feigned a deep sigh. “But if it’s the only way you can get to sit down in peace and eat your sausage, then if I were you, I’d give it another go.”
He raised his arms and stretching them apart, he gave the boy a cheeky wink, quietly chattering to himself. “It’s up to you, son. You can either come and give Uncle Barney a cuddle, or you can refuse to budge an inch and sit down. Like I say, it’s up to you. But you’d best be quick about it. I’ve been on the go since five o’clock this morning and every bone in my body aches. I need a cuppa tea and five minutes in the armchair to put me right, so come on … walk on them fat little legs o’ yourn. Do it for Barney, there’s a good ’un.”
Joanne gave him a playful shove. “Stop nattering to yourself. You have to raise your voice and talk clear, or he won’t hear a word you’re saying!”
In that moment, Lucy gave her a dig. “Look at him, Joanne. Look at Jamie!”
Barney’s “nattering” seemed to have worked, for the child had stood himself up straight and was now pushing against the tree, trying to get started. Arms outstretched toward Barney, he took one faltering step, then another, then a third step. When he saw Barney making faces at him, he burst out laughing and almost lost his balance again.
A few minutes later, encouraged by the big man’s coaxing, Jamie completed his walk across the orchard and fell into Barney’s arms. “Who’s a champion then, eh?” After giving him a kiss and a bear hug, Barney swung him round to Lucy. “There y’are. Now that he’s walking so well, you’ll need eyes in the back of your head, and serves you right, the pair of you.”
With that, he gave Joanne a knowing wink and strode off, still “nattering” to himself. “Poor little devil never had a chance. Women and their bullying—what’s a man to do, eh?” But he wouldn’t want to be without his Joanne for all the treasures in the world.
Thrilled at Jamie’s performance, Lucy took him by the hand and the two of them slowly followed Joanne into the house. It was another special memory that Lucy would cherish forever.
While the child slept soundly after all his efforts, the three of them sat together in the kitchen, each with a cup of tea and a generous slice of homemade fruit-cake; Joanne and Lucy at the table and Barney in the armchair. Once or twice, Lucy caught the two of them discreetly exchanging glances, as though they shared something she ought to know about.
“Where’s Susie?” Lucy had grown fond of Barney and Joanne’s daughter, but she was hardly ever around. She was either out with her schoolfriends, or in town learning how to make hats.
“She’s gone on a picnic with a group of friends.” Joanne worried about her young daughter. Though loving and giving, she seemed unsure of what she wanted to do with her life. Whenever Joanne spoke to Barney about her fears, he would tell her, “Leave the child be, and she’ll find her way soon enough.”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Joanne told Lucy after a while. “It’s been plaguing me for some time.”
Barney looked up at her remark. “Then you’d best get it off your chest,” he urged. “There’s no use fretting about it.” He knew exactly what concerned Joanne, because it also concerned him, though not to the same degree.
“What is it?” For the first time in their company, Lucy felt uncomfortable. “Is it something I’ve done, because if it is, I can’t know if you don’t tell me. Or is it that you can’t have Jamie any more?”
If that was the worry playing on Joanne’s mind, it would only mean the problem was shifted from her to Lucy, because Lucy had no one else, other than little Tillie, and she didn’t really want the child to go back to Bridget’s house.
; “No, of course it isn’t that!” Reaching across the table, Joanne patted the back of Lucy’s hand. “It isn’t that at all. You know how much we love having the child. Good grief! I’d be lost without him now.”
Barney laughed as he remarked to Lucy, “Now that he’s walking so well, he can help Joanne peg the washing out. Give him another few months and I dare say he’ll be out in that barn, chopping wood to his heart’s content.”
“Shut up, you daftie!” Covering him with her smile, Joanne shook her head. “We’re talking serious here.”
Lucy was worried. “What is it, Joanne? What’s wrong?”
So, as kindly and quietly as possible, Joanne told her, “I know it’s not really my concern, and you can tell me to mind my own business if you like, only …” She gave a nervous little cough.
Barney intervened to save her. “Spit it out, love. You’ve got Lucy thinking all sorts of terrible things.”
Taking a deep breath, Joanne said, “It’s just that … well, I’ve been wondering when you mean to have the boy baptized?” There! Now that it was said, she quickly picked up her cup of tea, took a great swig and nearly choked on it.
For a while, Lucy fell silent, and during the silence Barney and Joanne wondered anxiously whether she was angry or upset, or simply didn’t want to speak about it because she considered it was none of their business.
Presently, obviously feeling emotional, Lucy told them, “I’ve always meant to have Jamie baptized, only …” she paused to look at Barney, “I kept waiting for his daddy to come home, hoping we might arrange for our son’s christening together.” Her quick, bright smile belied the upheaval inside. “Only when he came back and found out he had a son, he didn’t want either of us.”
The humiliation was still heavy in her, and when it now showed in the threatening tears, Barney told her softly, “You and Jamie are better off without him. It’s all water under the bridge now, Lucy girl. Let it go, or it’ll haunt you for life … you and the boy.”
Wise to the event, Joanne lifted Lucy’s spirits. “I’ve got an idea!” She went and stood beside Barney, from where she addressed them both. “Why don’t we have a double celebration?”
Barney laughed at her enthusiasm. “I’m sorry, love. You can’t baptize me. I’m already baptized.”
“No!” Tutting, Joanne returned to the table where she excitedly told Lucy, “We could have Jamie baptized on his birthday. That way we’d have twice the reason to celebrate, and twice the party. What d’you say, Lucy?”
Lucy thought it was an inspired idea. “It’s long overdue and that shames me, but like you say, it’s not too late, and it would be a wonderful time to have him baptized … on his second birthday.”
And so it was settled and the date in November put in the diary. The two women agreed to go together to the church, to make the arrangements, then take the rest of the day off to go into Liverpool and do some shopping.
With a crafty glance at Barney, Joanne gave Lucy a wink. “I’ll need a new frock for the party,” she announced, running her hands down her thighs. “I might go into that new shop on the corner of Victoria Street. I’m told they have some lovely stuff there.” Patting her hair, she glanced in the mantelpiece mirror. “Oh, and I’ll need a new hat for the christening—an extra stylish one, with a little brim and a big flower on the side.”
“You’d best get me one an’ all,” Barney groaned. “One with the biggest brim you can find, so I can pull it over my ears when you tell me the price of all this paraphernalia.” With that he stretched out his legs, settled himself deep in the chair and fell asleep.
With the preparations and the shopping, and all the work in between, the next few weeks flew by; autumn soon arrived, and with it came a revelation concerning Leonard Maitland that surprised even Lucy.
On the Sunday afternoon, Lucy was pushing Jamie in the box-swing which Barney had slung from the big oak tree in the cottage garden.
“We’ll have to find a suitable christening gown for you,” she was telling the child as he laughed and clapped and kicked his fat little legs as he sailed through the air. “I don’t suppose I’ll find a baby gown to fit you now,” she gave him another gentle push. “You’re a big boy into the bargain, so we might have to think of something else, though I want you dressed in white all the same, because when the man takes the pictures I want you to look beautiful.”
Pausing, she thought of Frank Trent and how he had abandoned his own son. “When you’re older I’ll be able to tell you why I waited so long before I got you baptized.” She would tell him everything, but not with malice. After all, Frank was Jamie’s father and much as she would like to, she could not change that.
Her thoughts deepened. Things could have been so different. They could have been a real family. Somehow she had known that would never be, but she had hoped, for their son’s sake, that it might come about.
“Now that I know what he’s really like, I never again want any part of him,” she murmured to herself. But Jamie must make up his own mind. If it’s what he wanted when he was older, she would never stop him from seeing his daddy. Though she did not believe for one minute that Frank Trent would ever have the gall to show his face round these parts again.
When the swing slowed, the child began kicking his legs and shouting, “More!” Lucy started pushing him again. “All right. Just a few more minutes, then we’d best get you ready for bed,” she told him. “You’ve had a busy day and by rights you should be worn out.” She wagged a finger. “Barney was right. I do need eyes in the back of my head!”
“Talking to yourself, is it?” The husky voice was pleasantly familiar. “Sure they lock ye away for less than that.”
“BRIDGET!” Turning to see her old friend coming across the garden, Lucy ran to meet her. Flinging her arms round the woman’s waist, she gave her a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Ye little lunatic, get offa me!” Laughingly shoving Lucy away, Bridget straightened her hat—a big black flowery thing with a long white feather. “Haven’t I told ye before, you’re not to hug me so hard; I’m delicate as well ye know.”
She pointed to the child who was patiently sitting in his little box-swing. “Enough o’ this nonsense. I’ll get meladdo out and we’ll go inside for a drop o’ the good stuff.” She gave a naughty wink. “I expect you’ll be wanting all the latest news.”
Without more ado, she went to the swing, drew the wooden bar back and lifted the child out. “And as for you, young Jamie, I’ll thank ye not to pee on me!” she warned. “You ruined my skirt the last time, ye dirty little article!”
As she carried him away, he became fascinated with the feather in her hat, and when he began tugging at it, she promptly gave him to Lucy. “Will ye look at that? Not content with having ruined one o’ me best skirts, the little divil’s after ruining me hat.”
Chuckling to herself, and delighted to suffer Bridget’s complaining, Lucy took the child and followed her into the cottage. The Irishwoman was striding ahead, in charge as usual, looking grand and important in the dark straight skirt, cut to just below the knee, and the smart peplum jacket that accentuated her curves. The big flowery hat was perched at an angle on top of her fiery red hair, all twirled and tamed and secured beneath it—apart from the few wispy curls that had danced their way out.
“You look really nice,” Lucy complimented her sincerely. “Is that a new two-piece?”
Bridget sailed on. “New and expensive,” she replied over the shoulder. “So you’ll understand why I don’t want it peed on?”
Lucy did understand. “Is it bought for a special occasion then?”
“It certainly is! I have a gentleman collecting me any time now, so if you’ve anything you need to tell me, you’ll have to be quick about it.”
With an important backward glance, she went on, “I might tell ye, I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get here. I caught a bus for the first time in ages and walked half a mile down the lane … dog’s muck and hors
e-dung everywhere!” She glanced at her small-heeled shoes. “I’ll have you know, these were new only a few days since. This is the first time I’ve worn them. Now look at ’em! Whooh!” She had a whole gamut of wonderful expressions and the one she made now was priceless. “I’ll need to give ’em a shine before I leave.”
“Ah!” So this was the reason for the smart outfit and the new hat. “You’ve got a new fella then?” Lucy teased. “What’s he like?”
Bridget touched the tip of her nose. “You’ll know soon enough,” she replied cagily. “I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready and not before.”
Bursting into the cottage with her usual flair, Bridget filled the room with her presence as always. She waited for Lucy to settle the child down for a nap before tea; he wriggled about for a while before falling fast and hare asleep. “Good Lord above, will ye look at that? You’ve worn the child out, so ye have.” Now that he couldn’t snatch at her feather, she leaned over and kissed him. “He’s such a wee, bonny thing.”
Though she loved children from a safe distance, Bridget was not cut out to be a mother and she made no secret of that. “Making the child gives you pleasure,” she had been known to say with a twinkle in her eye. “Raising them breaks your heart.”
Lucy went to the cupboard. “Large or small?” she asked, the glass poised in the air.
“I’ll have a large,” Bridget started, then, “No! I’d best have a small.” A devious little grin shaped her handsome face. “Sure, I’ve got to keep me wits about me today.”
As instructed, Lucy poured out a small measure of gin and brought it to her. “Why? What’s happening today then?” She handed her the glass and watched with amazement as Bridget took a delicate sip. It wasn’t like her dear friend and benefactor to drink her gin sparingly. Normally, she would down one glass and be after another, before the first was hardly swallowed.
Bridget smacked her lips and looked up, and after taking another delicate sip, she smiled at Lucy with her magic green eyes and raising her eyebrows suggestively, said in a whisper, “I’ve found the fella of my dreams, so I have.” The slightly smug expression on her face told it all.
The Journey Page 13
