‘But if we can’t get near the town hall—’
‘We move forward.’
‘I can’t. I can’t breathe.’ She looked up, the canopy of clouds was now a strange mix of leaden yellow and dark grey.
And then Conal’s mouth was close to Winifred’s ear. ‘I’ll be after looking out for ya. Stay close to me.’
She had no choice. As they were pushed one way and then another, his grip on her pulled her closer to him than she’d ever been before. The thought struck her that, other than her father, she’d actually never been held by a man before. Despite the fear, a quiver of laughter rose inside her. The first time she’d had a man’s strong arms around her and she was surrounded by shouting, angry women. If only her mother could see her now.
A sharp pain. Winifred cried out. Something had struck her on her forehead. She staggered. At the same time she was aware that Liam had appeared at Honora’s side and heard him say, ‘Get her away from here, Conal, I’ll look after my girl.’
She saw him bend to kiss her friend. The sounds around came and went in waves, the purple and green colours merged. She was being lifted up and held. Without thinking she put her arms around Conal’s neck and rested her head against his chest, giving in to the swirling dizziness.
Chapter 23
‘Storm coming in.’ Bertie appeared behind Bill. ‘Might as well shut up shop anyway.’
The fishmonger stood with his fists on his thick waistline in the shop doorway. ‘Listen to that.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Sounds to me there’s trouble, like I said there would be.’ Even from three streets away Bill heard the smashing of glass and the screams and shouts. ‘That lot’ll be back this way, and no decent woman’ll come out to be stuck among them.’ He turned back into the shop. ‘Put the boards up, lad.’
Bill had only just slotted the last board over the window when the first few people ran past. Some of the women were screaming, eyes and mouths wide with distress. One or two of them had blood splattered on their clothes, one held her hand to her cheek, blood pouring down her neck.
Bill started towards her. ‘’Ere, let me help.’
He was stopped by Bertie’s shout. ‘Get in the shop and shut the door. Now!’
Bill clenched his jaw but let his arm drop to his side. By heck, if he was his own boss, no bugger would tell him what to do. The woman, who had faltered and moved towards him, staggered into a run again. For a moment Bill thought to go after her but knowing he’d get the sack turned on his heel to go back into the shop.
It was then he saw the Irishman. Running and holding his Winifred to him. She had her arms around his neck, her face hidden but Bill would have recognised her anywhere. She didn’t have the hat on anymore and her hair hung onto her shoulders in long loose locks.
‘What the bloody ’ell?’ He moved towards them.
‘Bill!’ Bertie warned from the doorway.
Rage stuck in Bill’s throat; he wanted to tell the man to stick his job. More than that he wanted to run after the Irish bastard and tear Winifred away from him.
He watched the man hold up one arm. A tram clattering along the main road at the end of the street, screeched to a halt, sparks flying from the rods.
They disappeared inside the tram.
Chapter 24
‘I should go home.’
The air was thick and heavy, and the black clouds were solid by the time they’d arrived at Gilpin Street. Winifred gasped as white light flashed in the distance over Morrisfield, followed shortly by a loud crack of thunder.
‘Not in this.’ Conal backed up to the front door of the house, manoeuvring it open and carried her into the dim hallway, taking the stairs two at a time.
‘And not until I’ve cleaned ya up.’ He settled her on Honora’s bed and straightened up, lighting the gas mantle on the wall above her head. ‘By yer a right weight.’ He mimicked a Yorkshire accent, obviously trying to make her smile.
She did, remembering the time not long ago when she’d imitated his, but the movement caused a sharp pain near her eye and she winced.
He gestured towards the window. ‘It’s lashing rain out there.’ He unfolded the blankets from the foot of the bed and covered her.
He was right, as soon as he’d kicked the front door shut behind them the rain had started, first in slow, heavy drops, then as a downpour. The reflection of sudden lightning shimmered against the rippling water on the panes, lit up the walls of the room.
Winifred closed her eyes, snuggling down under the blankets. ‘I’m cold,’ she murmured. How could she be so cold when only a short while ago she’d been so stifling hot?
‘It’ll be the shock.’ Conal perched on the edge of the bed, holding a basin of water and a piece of cloth. ‘To be sure, you’ll have a shiner tomorrow.’ His touch was gentle. Even so, she flinched each time he dabbed at the cut. The water in the bowl turned pink. She could tell he was worried from the slight frown and the pulling in of the corners of his mouth. ‘I’d like to get hold of the bastard who threw that stone,’ he muttered. Winifred lay still, aware of his closeness, their shared breath. Lifting the cloth away after a few moments he peered underneath at the gash over her eyes. His mouth was so close to hers. She closed her eyes. His lips were on her cheek. And then on her lips. No pressure, just a slight brushing, a warmth. And then gone. She realised she was holding her breath and felt the treacherous disappointment of her body.
‘Sorry, Win.’
‘No.’ She couldn’t believe what she was saying. ‘It’s all right.’ Her first kiss. Here of all places. Here, unchaperoned, alone with a man. With this man, of all men. But she didn’t care; she didn’t care that she knew it was wrong, that she hardly knew Honora’s brother. She didn’t care, she told herself. She raised her face, ignoring the throbbing from the cut as she moved, half closed her eyes, watched as he moved closer.
‘My mhuirnín. My sweetheart.’
The kiss was the most exquisite sensation she’d ever known. This was what she’d been waiting for, wanted from the moment she’d set eyes on him.
And then it was over.
Disappointed she opened her eyes; saw her regret in his, even as he spoke.
‘Try to rest for a while.’
And then he was gone.
Chapter 25
When she woke she was still alone. How long had she slept? The storm seemed to have passed. There was light through the thin curtains but it felt late. Winifred’s stomach lurched; had she really allowed Conal to kiss her? She remembered how her body had reacted and wondered if he’d noticed and been shocked, even though he was the one who’d kissed her first. Was that why he’d apologised? She pushed at the blankets covering her at the same time as she pushed away the thought. The only thing she wanted to do was to go home; she should have been there now.
There were voices coming from the other room. When she sat up her head swam, and she took a few deep breaths until she steadied. Putting her feet to the floor she waited, feeling the throb of the cut on her forehead. She touched it cautiously; there was no blood.
The door opened slightly and Honora peeped in.
‘You’re awake.’ She came into the room. She was wearing a long red gown, different from the one she’d worn earlier. Her black hair hung around her shoulders. ‘We got wet through,’ she said, pulling her lips into a grimace. ‘It didn’t need all those police to break us up after all.’
Winifred didn’t acknowledge her words. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just gone eight.’
‘It feels later. I should go home.’
Honora sat next to Winifred and grasped her hand. ‘I feel a bit bad, Win. Ya wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t persuaded ya—’
‘It was…is my choice I’m involved.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Groggy.’ Winifred squeezed her eyes closed, thankful it didn’t send the sharp pain through her head as it had earlier. ‘Better. I need to go home.’ Her mother never missed a chance to sni
pe about the Suffragettes and the way Winifred was in danger of losing her reputation; there was no point in giving her extra opportunity to nag. Besides, she knew her father would be worried by now.
‘Conal’s told me.’ Honora grinned, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘About ya – and him.’
‘We didn’t do anything.’ The warmth rose on Winifred’s throat.
‘I know.’ The Irish girl looked affronted. ‘My brother would never take advantage.’ Then she laughed. ‘But I can’t say I’m surprised, I knew ya were taken with him the first time ya met.’
‘I was not. I hardly know him.’ Winifred stopped, startled by the memory of the feel of his lips on hers. ‘I hardly know him,’ she repeated.
‘But ya will. And when ya do, ya’ll fall madly in love with him. I promise.’ Honora laughed. ‘He has the charm of the Irish.’ She stood. ‘I’ll get dressed and then we’ll walk ya home; make sure ya get there safe.’ Looking down at Winifred she said, ‘Conal really likes ya, Win. You could do worse.’
Winifred doubted her mother would agree.
They said little, walking back to Marshall Road. Despite her initial protests, Winifred was glad of their support when they linked their arms through hers.
Conscious of the warmth of his body, she kept herself stiff and upright, trying to keep as little contact as possible with Conal.
Reaching the end of Cook Street Winifred disengaged herself from them both. ‘I’ll be fine now,’ she said.
‘And I’ll be off. ‘Honora walked away with a wave of her hand and no explanation. ‘See ya soon, Win.’
Dismayed at being left alone with Conal, Winifred was at a loss for words. Her only wish was to escape; mortified that she’d behaved in such an immoral way earlier.
‘Will ya not look at me, my mhuirnín?’
Winifred shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze.
‘I’ve offended ya.’
‘Oh, no.’ Dismayed, she looked at the ground. ‘It’s me. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.’ She mumbled the words. ‘I shouldn’t have let you take me back to your house. It wasn’t proper.’
‘Ya were in no fit state to go to yours.’ Conal lifted her chin with his forefinger so she had to look at him. ‘I don’t kiss girls lightly, Win.’ He gave a soft chuckle. ‘In fact you’re the first girl I’ve kissed in a long time, sure ya are.’
‘I don’t… I haven’t…’ She closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath.
‘I know. I guessed.’ He held onto her shoulders. ‘I respect ya, I promise. I always will. It’ll be hard.’ He chuckled again. ‘But I surely won’t take advantage of you, Winifred, I never would. Do ya believe me?’
She moved her head slightly. ‘Yes.’
‘So, will ya walk out with me?’ He whispered the words as though he hardly dare say them.
‘I don’t know. I need to think.’ She sensed his disappointment.
‘It’s your ma and da? They’ll be against us. Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll wait.’
Winifred knew it wouldn’t matter how long he waited, her mother would never allow it. Rebellion flashed through her. She looked up into his eyes, saw the determination and love in them ‘Kiss me again,’ she said.
Chapter 26
Bill sat in the corner by the empty fireplace in the Wagon and Horses, the misery a cold lump inside him. He couldn’t get Winifred out of his head but he knew he had no chance with her. She was too good for him, too posh, too nice, a different class. What had he to offer? He was nowt.
It was a long time since he’d had this overwhelming feeling of helplessness: the lurching in his stomach each time he got a glimpse of her, the yearning to talk to her, to touch with love. It was a very long time since he’d touched a woman with love and not just because he needed sex. He pushed that memory away; that first love. It still hurt.
His hands shook as he lifted the pint pot to his mouth, gulping down his second pint of beer. He couldn’t afford another pint and he shouldn’t be getting drunk. But feeling like this made him weak and he hated feeling weak.
And anyway, except for being taller…and better looking…what had that Irish bastard got to offer her any different from what he could? From what Bill could tell the bloke had nowt either. But what did he know.
He thumped his pint pot onto the table and looked across to the bar. He found it impossible to stop thinking about that Irish bastard mauling his Winifred. He was going to have to do something about it. But first he’d have another pint and sod the expense.
The storm had gone through hours ago; it had fair rained and the lightning had lit up the sky in great jagged lines for ages. But now the air was fresh, and most of the locals were sitting on the benches outside, which was a good thing because he didn’t feel like talking. Not right at the minute, not while he was trying to sort out in his mind what to do. What he wanted to do.
He was unsteady on his feet when he at last stood up and made for the door. He saw the three of them walk along the street and stop on the corner. He saw the Irish girl leave. He saw Winifred talking to the Irish bastard. He saw her lift her face to the man’s so he could kiss her.
Bill’s despair quickly turned to anger and the anger cleared his head. Why was she acting like a trollop? That wasn’t what she was.
The last gulp of beer came back up his throat and he gagged. Had he been kidding himself? Was she was no better than the harlots that paraded the streets at night in Morrisfield? Little better than a threepenny-upright? No, he wouldn’t believe that of her. At least he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Taking in a long breath he wiped his hand over his face, feeling the weakness of scalding tears. Well, at least he’d found out before it was too late. Before he made a complete bloody fool of himself.
Perhaps it was best he moved on; forgot all his fanciful hopes. It looked as if she’d made her choice and he wouldn’t hang around hankering after her. But he’d miss having a regular wage. And he hadn’t saved all that much since he got work. If he was going to get right away from this dump, he’d need more money in his pocket.
Chapter 27
Winifred knew she’d have a fight on her hands with her mother the minute she walked into the shop. With her hat lost there was no way she could hide the cut on her forehead.
But as chance would have it she was in luck, only her father was there, packing slabs of butter for the following day.
‘You’re late, love. She’s been going mad this last hour,’ he said, turning to put the butter away. His eyes showed his worry and his smile seemed forced when he looked at her. ‘Good grief, child, what happened?’ He came round the counter, wiping his hands on a cloth and tilted her head towards the lit gas mantle. ‘That’s nasty, are you all right?’
‘I am. It’s nothing, honestly. I fell. Honora tidied me up.’ She wouldn’t tell him how the protest march had disintegrated into chaos. And she certainly wouldn’t tell him where she went afterwards.
‘I’ve been waiting for you. I told Mother I needed to sort the butter out. And then I wanted to do the window display.’
Keeping out of her mother’s way, more like it, Winifred thought. ‘I’ll help.’
‘No, you get off upstairs. Get some rest, you look worn out.’
‘You’re certain? You look tired yourself.’
‘I’m fine. Off you go.’
‘Where’s Mother now?’
He lowered his eyelids and nodded towards the parlour. ‘Go quiet; I think she’s having forty winks. I’ll tell her you’ve been in ages if she comes in here.’
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
After a moment of hesitation she escaped to her room. Watching herself undressing in the wardrobe mirror she didn’t look any different. She believed she was in love with Conal and had always imagined that being in love would make you look different. But no, she was the same. Except, as she looked closer, she saw the way her
eyes shone, the way her lips quivered into a slight smile without her being aware of it. Then she touched the cut above her eyebrow. If he was right and she did have a bruise around her eye in the morning she’d need to have an excuse ready.
But her last thoughts as she got into bed were how she would tell her parents about her growing feelings for Conal. He said he was willing to wait until they accepted him, so it was only fair she gave them a chance to. It would probably mean a fight with her mother. She’d made no bones about the fact she despised Honora, so it would be worse for Conal. As a man her mother would be convinced he was an Irish Nationalist in England to plot against the Government. Or after getting his hands on the shop by courting her.
It had always upset Winifred that Ethel had no qualms in claiming that she came from a family “with connections” and by marrying John she had married beneath her. Before her talk with her granny, two months ago, Winifred had known no different. Now she knew it was actually her father’s parents who were the ones who had money, who were probably better socially connected than Ethel’s. With that knowledge she could use her mother’s snobbery against her; make her face the truth, that it was her father who had married beneath him. She could have no argument against her daughter doing the so-called same. She would have to accept Conal. Winifred smiled and snuggled lower under the covers.
Besides, her father would be on her side. She could always rely on that.
Chapter 28
Bill hadn’t reckoned on the shopkeeper coming back into the shop.
The gas mantles had been turned off for ten minutes. He’d watched the man mess about in the window for ages. He’d seen him counting out the money from the till and taking the canvas bag through a door behind the counter. But he hadn’t gone near the shop door as far as Bill could tell. Looked like he’d forgotten to lock up; Bill couldn’t believe his luck.
100 Tiny Threads Page 11
