Voices of the Morning

by June Gadsby

  ‘I hope you’re looking after him, God,’ she whispered under her breath, then joined Andrew and Susan in the front line of the rapt audience listening to and singing along with the Christmas carols. Susan was demanding to be put down because she had got her sights on a tangle-haired dog. The pup, for he wasn’t much above a few months’ old, was running among the feet of the musicians, sniffing at their ankles and the frosty ground.

  ‘Ahh!’ Susan cried out, holding out her hand and clicking her fingers at the dog, which came and gave her a brief lick, then continued on his search until he stopped at the foot of a rather short individual playing a cornet. The mongrel gave a delighted yelp and tried to climb up the man’s leg, bouncing on its hind legs and tugging at the loose materiel of the cornet player’s jacket.

  Bridget watched and smiled at the dog’s antics. The man was doing his best to ignore the animal, but wasn’t being very effective. As the piece the band was playing came to a close, the bandsman lowered his instrument and bent down to speak affectionately to the dog. They obviously belonged together.

  ‘Hey, you scrag end. You made me play a sour note then. What are you up to, eh? Want to get me the sack?’

  The dog yelped, leapt in the air and kissed the bandsman’s nose. At that point, little Susan chose to rush forward to introduce herself properly to man and dog.

  ‘Is that your doggy?’ she asked in her baby, lisping voice.

  ‘Aye, pet. It is, and he should have stayed home, but he doesn’t like being left alone. I suppose he must have escaped somehow.’

  ‘He’s nice. What’s his name?’

  ‘He’s called Mister Tatters on account of him being all in tatters when I found him.’

  ‘My name’s Susan.’

  Bridget had held back, not daring to believe her eyes or her ears, for she knew this man, despite his being swamped in a Salvation Army uniform that was at least two sizes too big for him and a cap that came down over his eyes. She edged forward tentatively, loving the moment and yet fearing what might follow.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here on your own, pet,’ Billy said as he picked the dog up and tucked it under his arm. ‘Where’s your mammy?’

  Susan turned and pointed. ‘There!’

  Billy’s eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open as he saw Bridget for the first time.

  * * *

  ‘Hello Billy.’

  They stared at one another like people meeting in a dream that wasn’t quite real. Billy felt his heart thud, and then sink down deep inside him, like a ship plummeting to unknown depths.

  ‘Bridget!’ Her name left his numb lips like a soft breeze.

  ‘What on earth are you doing playing for the Sally Army Band?’ she asked, her eyes travelling the length and breadth of him.

  ‘I help out sometimes,’ he said. ‘Since the war they’ve been short of players.’

  ‘It looks like they’re short of uniforms too,’ she said and the smile that nothing had ever been able to wipe from his memory spread out across her rosy face.

  ‘Aye, well, things are a bit tight.’

  ‘Which is more than I can say for that uniform of yours. There’s room for two more inside, I’d say. When did you take up the trumpet?’

  ‘It’s a cornet...’ He stared down at the shiny instrument as if it might give him courage to go on speaking to her without a tremor in his voice. ‘I used to play the penny whistle, but I’ve been learning this thing for a few months now.’

  ‘So, you’re a member of the Sally Army now?’

  ‘Not exactly...’ He was desperately trying not to say her name again because his fractured emotions might show. ‘Captain Harry and his wife have been good to me. They found me a job and lodgings. I help them out where I can.’

  ‘Captain Harry?’

  ‘That would be me, young lady,’ said a booming voice beside her and she turned to see the ruddy-faced bandleader beaming at her. ‘Haven’t we met before? I seem to know your face from somewhere.’

  ‘I don’t think...’ Bridget started to deny they had ever met, but Andrew stepped up and put his hand around her shoulders in that possessive way he had.

  ‘We were there, captain, the day Billy was released from prison.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Plenty of water under the bridge since then. Well, if you’ll excuse me...’ The captain touched a finger to the peak of his cap. ‘I need to get the band back to the City Temple. We’re playing there this evening. Billy, why don’t you invite your friends to come along? I’m sure they’ll find seats.’

  Billy nodded and they all watched in silence as Captain Harry rounded up his bandsmen and his songsters.

  ‘Don’t let us keep you, Billy...’ Andrew said, picking Susan up once again and placing a hand on the small of Bridget’s back, urging her to go on.

  Billy looked at them, his heart disintegrating. They made such a good-looking family. He shouldn’t resent that. What had he ever had to offer any woman, even before prison? He had been crazy to think otherwise.

  ‘Just a minute, Andrew,’ Bridget touched the barrister’s arm and turned back to Billy. ‘Is everything all right, Billy? I tried to get in touch with you, but nobody seemed to know where you were living.’

  ‘The Salvation Army sorted me out.’ He blinked at her, searching for words to say. ‘I’m all right. No complaints.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  He gave a watery smile at that. Bridget had never been of any religious persuasion and she knew he was the same, though there had been times lately when he had found himself sitting on a precarious fence, not knowing which way to fall.

  ‘They’re good people, but I’m not one of them, except on occasions like this one, when they need an extra body in the band.’ He gave a boyish grin. ‘It gives me the opportunity to play some good, rousing music.’

  ‘Don’t they mind you wearing the uniform, then? Seeing as how you’re not one of them?’

  ‘No. Captain Harry thought I wouldn’t stand out so much if I wore it rather than my own clothes. His wife’s furious because he didn’t give her enough time to do the necessary alterations.’

  ‘So, you have yourself a family, of sorts?’

  ‘They treat me like a son, if that’s what you mean. Them and a lot of their friends. As I say, they’re damned good people.’

  Bridget nodded slowly and sank her teeth into her bottom lip. He could see this meeting was uncomfortable for her too. There were so many things Billy wanted to ask, so much he wanted to say, but it wasn’t the right time. He didn’t know if it would ever be the right time.

  The lads in the band were chivvying him to hurry and join them. He gave them a wave of acknowledgement. When he looked off to the left he could see the barrister hovering impatiently, a look of concern on his face.

  ‘You’d better go,’ Bridget said.

  ‘Aye.’ Billy shifted his hands on the cornet he was almost strangling in his edginess. ‘Take care, then.’

  ‘You too, Billy.’

  He started to walk away, his heart weighing him down. The band lads were still waving to him, calling out to him to hurry. It was the hardest thing to do, putting one foot in front of the other, knowing Bridget, who had been his whole life and who should have continued to be so till death parted them, was standing there watching him. He wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her till she begged him to stop, but that was never going to happen. She had moved on, made a nice life for herself, by the looks of it. She had a husband who obviously adored her and a lovely little girl. He couldn’t have wished anything better for her. Bridget deserved the best and, by God, he wasn’t going to spoil it for her.

  ‘Billy!’

  He hesitated a fraction of a second at the sound of her voice. Then, pretending he hadn’t heard, he hurried away.

  * * *

  Late on Christmas Eve, Bridget was hurrying to wrap a last-minute present for Andrew. It was a bit of a joke, really, but she was sure he would appreciate it. For the past few weeks,
with some help and encouragement from Andrew’s mother, Bridget had knit him a warm jumper in the gayest mixture of colours she could think of. The wool had been rescued from knitwear Susan had outgrown. Pulled out, washed and dried, it was ideal for an inexperienced knitter to practice on. Bridget wasn’t sure about the size – it looked big. And one sleeve was slightly longer than the other. But she was mightily proud of her first attempt and Edna had applauded when she saw it.

  ‘Oh, I’m looking forward to seeing my dowdy son wearing that on Christmas Day,’ Andrew’s mother had said and they had both looked at one another and laughed.

  ‘Hurry up, Mummy!’ Susan shouted from her lookout post at the front room window. ‘He’s coming.’

  ‘Oh, Lor!’ Bridget’s fingers got suddenly clumsy as she tied the red ribbon bow and rushed to hide the parcel with the rest of the presents in the bottom of the Welsh dresser beside the special bottle of sherry for Edna tomorrow, and a bottle of port for Andrew’s father.

  ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry!’ Susan ran into the kitchen, hopping from one foot to the other and grinning all over her chubby face; ‘He’s got somebody with him. I can hear them talking.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Bridget peered into the oven, checking that the shepherd’s pie she was making for supper wasn’t burning. ‘I hope there’s enough here for four.’

  ‘I’ll open the door,’ Susan said, nodding importantly and marching off down the passage, where Bridget heard the grate of the door catch. It seemed like only yesterday that Susan was too little to reach up and open the door. She had grown so much in the last few months.

  Two pairs of male feet clumped down the passage and she heard Andrew calling out to her.

  ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ she shouted back and hurriedly got out another set of cutlery to make a fourth place at the table.

  She was lifting the pie out of the oven, her face hot from the high temperature and her haste, when Andrew put his head around the door and gave her an uncertain smile.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, his brows furrowing. ‘I’ve brought someone with me. It’s...well, you’ll see.’

  ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense,’ Bridget said. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘You’d better put that dish down before you drop it,’ Andrew said and she was glad to get rid of the dish to the table, for it was burning through the tea towel and scorching her fingers.

  Andrew came into the kitchen, but the other person, whoever it was, was still hanging behind, though she could hear some kind of snuffling noise and Susan, also out of sight, was chattering away ecstatically.

  ‘Well? Who is it?’

  The welcoming smile faded from Bridget’s hot face, which became even hotter as she saw who their supper guest was. Billy Flynn stepped into the room and stood beside Andrew, cap in hand.

  ‘Billy!’

  ‘Hello, Bridget. I’ve brought Mister Tatters. I hope it’s all right. I thought the bairn might enjoy him. You don’t have to worry. He doesn’t bite or anything. Too soft for that.’

  Bridget swallowed and looked from him to Andrew and back again. She was saved from having to think of the right words by Susan staggering into the room, carrying the hairy mongrel that was licking her face and generally making a great fuss of his new friend.

  ‘Look what I’ve got, Mummy.’

  ‘Susan, sweetheart, put the dog down and come and wash your hands before you eat.’

  ‘He’s called Mister Tatters, Mummy. Isn’t he lovely?’

  ‘Lovely...yes...’ Bridget couldn’t take her eyes off Billy.

  ‘You can play with Tatters all you want later,’ Andrew said. ‘But now, young lady, hands!’

  ‘Knees!’ Susan yelled in her squeaky child’s voice.

  ‘And bumps-a-daisy!’ Andrew finished off and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the sink, where she had her own special step stool to help her reach the tap.

  ‘Would you like some shepherd’s pie?’ Bridget said to Billy in a voice that was slightly dazed, which was exactly how she felt. What on earth is Andrew thinking of, bringing Billy here to my house!

  ‘That would be nice,’ Billy nodded and sat down where she indicated, though she got the impression that he was glad not to have to stand there before her any longer.

  ‘Andrew...?’

  Andrew turned from supervising Susan’s hand washing and she saw something different in his face too. ‘What? Oh, not for me, Bridget. Susan and I are going to my mother’s for supper. Go and get your coat, sweetheart.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Andrew, what’s this all about?’

  There was a poignant silence. Andrew went to stand beside Billy and laid a hand on his shoulder. There wasn’t much difference in their ages, but it was something of a fatherly gesture.

  ‘It’s all about love, Bridget,’ he said. ‘There are different kinds of love, you know. It also has to do with being able to recognize what kind of love you’re dealing with.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will. I’ve had a long talk with Billy, here. He’s a good man, Bridget, but then...I always knew that. Just as I’ve always known that the pair of you belonged together.’

  The two men nodded at each other, but it was obvious there was nothing left to say. They had already said it all.

  Bridget went to the door with Andrew, who had Susan in his arms.

  ‘Andrew...?’

  ‘Billy will take it from here,’ said Andrew, hugging the little girl tightly to him. ‘We’ll be fine, won’t we, Susan? Mummy and Billy will come and spend Christmas Day with us tomorrow.’

  ‘And Mister Tatters?’

  ‘Him too!’ Andrew’s mouth quivered slightly as he kissed Susan’s cheek, then bent to plant a more lingering kiss on Bridget’s temple. There was a catch in his voice as he spoke. ‘Bye, Bridget. See you tomorrow. My parents are looking forward to it.’

  What could she say? Did Andrew know how wonderful he was? This was a big sacrifice for him. He asked her time and time again to marry him, but although she loved him dearly, she always held back. Her heart belonged to another, and that man was finally sitting in her kitchen, waiting to speak to her.

  She closed the door behind two of the dearest souls on this earth and walked slowly back to the kitchen. She sat down opposite Billy and they stared at one another in total silence, until she remembered the shepherd’s pie cooling between them. Still without a word, she took a large helping of it and piled it on a plate in front of Billy. He looked down at it briefly, then reached out and stayed her hand, gripped it so tightly she dropped the spoon. Her heart raced, but she couldn’t speak. Not yet.

  ‘Andrew told me about you and him,’ Billy said, his voice raw, his eyes brimming with emotion. ‘I thought you were married and Susan was your daughter, but you’re not and...and she’s not...’

  ‘Susan is Laura’s daughter, Billy.’ Bridget found her voice at last. ‘She married during the war. Her husband was a farmer. He was much older than her. Oh, she was so happy when she knew she was pregnant then her husband died. There were complications during the pregnancy. Laura died during childbirth, Billy. I think, somehow, she knew something was wrong. She left me a letter asking me to care for Susan if anything happened to her. I wanted to adopt her, but they wouldn’t let me. I’m a single person, you see. But they did allow me to be her foster-mother. Andrew’s her godfather, along with his parents and there’s a trust fund put aside for her that she inherits when she’s twenty-one. She’ll never want for anything until then.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Billy said. ‘She’s a lucky little girl. I wish I’d been around to see her growing up.’

  ‘Me too, but...Billy..?’ The words stuck in her throat.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, it’s not too late. She is only five after all.’

  Billy smiled into her eyes and his grip on her fingers became even tighter.

  ‘I can’t remember if I’ve ever told you this, Bridget,’ he said, ‘but I’ve n
ever stopped loving you. I think I’ve loved you all my life.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said, trying to stop her lips from trembling. ‘But you turned me away, and the other day, you walked away from me as if you didn’t care.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how much strength it took to do that.’ Billy licked his lips and cast his gaze about the kitchen. The only sound was the ticking of the old chiming clock on the mantelpiece. ‘The thing is, Bridget, I can’t offer you the kind of things you deserve. I’m in work, so I’m not destitute, but it’s not enough to feed a family on. And with my past...’ He drew in a deep, sobbing breath and gave a hopeless shrug.

  She was about to tell him how, thanks to her own hard work, letting out rooms to lodgers and taking in washing and sewing, she had somehow managed to keep on his cobbler’s shop. However, before she could speak, there was a loud rattling at the front door. She frowned, and so did Billy at having to release his hold on her hand.

  On the pavement outside there was a group of people, men and women, most of whom she knew from years back. They were stamping their feet to keep warm as the icy December wind blew down the street, bringing with it a flurry of thick snowflakes.

  ‘Bridget!’ Mrs Turnbull, the old neighbour of Billy’s from Dawson Street, was obviously their self-appointed spokeswoman. She stepped forward arms crossed beneath her sagging breasts and fixed Bridget with a determined eye. ‘We’ve just heard that Billy Flynn is back.’

  ‘And what of it?’ Bridget pulled herself up to her full height and got ready to launch herself into Billy’s defence. There had been some cruel people in the past, speaking ill of Billy and his whole family. She had stood up for him then and she would do so again.

  ‘Nothing, pet.’ The woman’s face softened. ‘Except to say that we’re very glad to hear it. It’s time we had a decent cobbler in these parts instead of having to traipse all the way to Gateshead to get our boots and shoes mended. Just tell him from us that if he’s willing, he’s already got a bevy of customers waiting for him to get started. You’ll do that, will you, lass?’