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THE WEEKS PASSED and already it was the end of July.

Lucy and Jamie had settled in well to Mr Maitland’s vacant cottage. It was almost as though they had lived there forever. Lucy was happier than she had ever been; every day was like a holiday. Her life was filled with new experiences and here in the countryside where she was a part of the greater picture, what had previously seemed to her like mountainous problems, now seemed almost trivial.

She counted herself fortunate to have such friends as the Davidsons; they were a joy to be with. Working or relaxing, every minute in their company drew her more and more into their family.

Sometimes on a Sunday evening, Bridget or one of the girls from Viaduct Street would visit, and they would sit and talk, and laugh to their hearts’ content. Lucy made sure to keep a measure of the ‘good stuff’ hidden away for when Bridget came. ‘Oh, you’re a darling – what are ye?’ Tipping up her glass and warming the cockles of her heart, Bridget would dance and sing and go home all the merrier.

As arranged, through the week Lucy worked with the Davidsons, and on Saturday morning she went up to Leonard Maitland’s house, where she did the ironing and other jobs like cleaning his silver. After midday her work was done and the weekend was her own, to enjoy the cottage and play with her child.

Each day saw Jamie grow more and more sturdy; he now was very active and the fresh air was doing him a power of good. He loved his new family and had begun to talk in his own way to them all. Everyone loved the little toddler and enjoyed having him around the farm.

On this particular Saturday, Lucy was replacing the silver in the display cabinet, just about to finish her morning’s work, when she heard voices in the next room. ‘Sometimes I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a farmer’s wife.’

‘Hmh! I wish you’d told me that before I put an engagement ring on your finger.’

There followed a girlish peal of false laughter and the light-hearted suggestion, ‘Oh, Lenny! Why don’t you sell everything – this house, the land and cottages. We could move down to London – or go abroad! It would be so wonderful to travel. We could stay away for a whole year … see the world, do something exciting.’

There was a brief silence, then the woman demanded, ‘Are you deliberately ignoring me?’ Another silence, then in sterner voice: ‘Leonard! Did you hear what I said?’

‘I heard, and yes, I am deliberately ignoring you, Pat. We’ve had this same conversation so many times I’m beginning to tire of it.’

Only the thinness of a wall away, Lucy recognised the voices of Patricia Carstairs and Leonard Maitland. She tried hard not to listen and even softly sang to herself, but the voices grew louder and angrier, and she couldn’t help but overhear every single word.

‘Yes, and so am I tired of it!’ Anger trembled in her voice. ‘Whenever I take the trouble to drive over and see you, you’ve either got your head buried in paperwork, or you’re out with your man discussing tractors or some such thing, or overseeing a delivery. Yesterday, and not for the first time, I came here to find you ensconced in your office with two other men, and even when you knew I was here, you just popped your head round the door and excused yourself. My God, Leonard! You didn’t come out for a full hour, and I was made to hang around like a dog at its master’s heels. These days, you hardly ever have time for me, and that is not how it should be. I should come first in your life and I don’t. And I’m really fed up!’

‘Then listen to what I’m saying.’ Leonard sounded weary. He was weary – of her demands, of her chastising, and of her misguided belief that he, like her, had nothing better to do than socialise. ‘I’m a farmer, Patricia … a busy man. You knew that when we met and you know it now. I can’t change that. I won’t change it.’

‘But you don’t actually farm, do you?’ Her tone was cynical.

Leonard gave a dry, angry laugh. ‘You just don’t understand, do you?’ he said. ‘I may not often sit in the tractor, or plough in the seeds, or cut the corn when it’s grown. But I’m a landowner and as such have certain responsibilities. I plan which seeds go into the ground, or which tractor suits the job best. I scour the country for the best price I might get for my harvest … There are a multitude of things that come with working the land. I monitor every single thing. I buy and sell, and treat my part of the job with respect.’

‘But you have Barney Davidson. You sing his praises so often, I’m sure if you let him, he would take a lot more responsibility from your shoulders.’

There was another moment of silence; a moment when Lucy felt uncomfortable, for she could almost taste the atmosphere.

It seemed an age before, in a cutting voice, Leonard Maitland spoke again. ‘You will never understand, will you, Patricia? You don’t even try to understand the implications of what I’m telling you. I bought this land because I needed to. If I didn’t have land around me, I would simply suffocate. But land is not just for looking at, and when you take it on, you give yourself wholeheartedly to its well-being. You treat it like a living, breathing entity, because that’s what it is. The land gives more than it takes, and it deserves to be cared for. But, like I say, you will never comprehend that, and I don’t blame you for it.’

‘I’m sorry, Lenny darling.’ True or false, the voice and its owner seemed contrite. ‘All I’m saying is, why not let Barney take over occasionally? After all, you’ve always said he knows the land as well as you do. I can’t count the number of times you’ve remarked on how a capable man like Barney Davidson was meant to have his own farm, but that life had not treated him kindly enough.’

‘Yes, Pat, and I meant it. But this is my land. My responsibility. Barney is my partner in a sense. He is my eyes and ears, and while I organise everything else, he farms, and that’s all right, because he has the same love for the land that I do.’

‘Oh Lenny.’ The voice grew whining. ‘I know how passionate you are about this place …’

‘No, you don’t.’ Now he was calmer, wanting to explain. ‘You live in town. You can have no idea of what it feels like to see the harvest being brought in, or to stride the fields on a winter’s morning, when the snow lies deep in the ditches and the trees bend and dip with the weight.’ His voice dropped. ‘If you want us to marry, as I do, then you must accept that my work is important to me.’

‘All right, my darling, but why can’t we go away – for a month maybe?’

‘We will,’ he consoled her. ‘Look, we’re due to be married next spring, and if it suits you, we can have a much longer honeymoon than planned. How’s that?’

‘And can I plan where we go?’ She was a spoiled child.

‘If you like, yes.’

‘And money’s no object?’

He gave a sigh. Did his fiancée not realise that most of the world was plunged into a financial crisis? ‘It is our honeymoon after all,’ he said resignedly.

‘Oh, Lenny, it will be so wonderful!’ Excitement coloured her voice. ‘Then in the winter, can we go far away – to the South of France or even further afield? My London friends spent last winter in Sydney and they said it was the best time they ever had. Oh, it would be so nice to get right away. I do get so bored visiting the same old places.’

‘You’re a mystery to me.’ A different emotion crept into his words. ‘You’re infuriating and selfish, and sometimes I wonder what I see in you. But fool that I am, I can’t help but love you.’

‘I’ll remember that when you refuse me what I ask.’

‘You will have to remember something else too.’

‘For instance?’

‘For instance, that being a landowner, I must bow to my duties here. There will always be times when I can’t just take off at your every whim and fancy.’

There came that soft trill of laughter again. ‘We shall have to see, won’t we? Now I think you should give me a kiss, by way of apology.’

‘Don’t you think the apology should come from you?’

‘Aw, Leonard! Does it really matter who apologises? Kiss me, and we’ll forget we ever quarrelled.’

Silence reigned for a moment, when Lucy imagined they were in the throes of the ‘apology’. Then came the sound of a door opening and closing, and when she glanced out of the window, Lucy saw them going arm-in-arm down the driveway to the long black car, recently chosen by Patricia Carstairs, paid for by Mr Maitland, and delivered only three days ago.

‘Oh darling! Won’t people be envious when they see us together in this!’ was Patricia’s parting remark as she climbed into the car.

Lucy watched them drive off; the woman slim, beautiful, and arrogant to the quick, while the gentleman was attentive and homely, a gentle giant of a man.

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 with 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 towards 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!’ Vicky 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,’ Vicky 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 downwards, his back seemingly glued to the tree.

‘Stay there, Lucy!’ Running forward, Vicky 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, Vicky 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,’ Vicky 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. ‘Vicky said he tried and failed three times.’

‘Is that right?’ The smile he gave Vicky 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.’

Vicky 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, Vicky. 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 towards 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 Vicky 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 Vicky 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 Vicky 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; Vicky 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 Vicky’s daughter, but she was hardly ever around. She was either out with her school-friends, or in town learning how to make hats.

‘She’s gone on a picnic with a group of friends.’ Vicky worried about her young daughter. Though loving and giving, she seemed unsure of what she wanted to do with her life. Whenever Vicky 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,’ Vicky 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 Vicky, 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 Vicky’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, Vicky 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 Vicky 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, Vicky shook her head. ‘We’re talking serious here.’

Lucy was worried. ‘What is it, Vicky? What’s wrong?’

So, as kindly and quietly as possible, Vicky 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, Vicky said, ‘It’s just that … well, I’ve been wondering when you mean to have the boy baptised?’ 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 Vicky 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 baptised, 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, Vicky 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 baptise me. I’m already baptised.’

‘No!’ Tutting, Vicky returned to the table where she excitedly told Lucy, ‘We could have Jamie baptised 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 baptised … 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, Vicky 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 Edward 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 baptised.’ She would tell him everything, but not with malice. After all, Edward 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 Edward 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 horse-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 hard 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.

‘Have you now?’ Lucy sat herself down. ‘So, you really think he’s the one?’

‘Oh, he is. I just know he is!’

‘Well, come on then. Who is he?’

Bridget opened her mouth to answer, then changed her mind. ‘Get yourself a cuppa tea first – oh, and another o’ these.’ She held out her glass. ‘I’ve a thirst come on me all of a sudden.’ She shrugged her broad shoulders in that apologetic manner which Lucy knew only too well.

Lucy didn’t argue, because she knew it would do no good. Instead, she took the glass, half-filled it and handed it back. ‘You’d best make that last. Your fella might not approve of his woman being three sheets to the wind.’

Bridget took a ladylike sip. ‘Why, ye cheeky young heathen!’ She then took another sip, this time longer. ‘I’ll be the best judge o’ that, so I will!’ She leaned forward in an intimate manner. ‘I’m so glad you like the two-piece,’ she said. ‘I bought it special. I bought these special an’ all.’ Clambering out of the chair, she hoisted her skirt to display vast thighs, topped by the laciest pair of knickers Lucy had ever seen. ‘Pure silk, I’ll have ye know!’ Bridget imparted, wide-eyed. ‘Cost me a small fortune, so they did. Well – what d’ye think? D’ye like them? D’ye think he’ll like them?’

Lucy was lost for words, and told Bridget so.

‘Ah, go on and make the tea,’ Bridget told her, disappointed. ‘Sure, if he doesn’t like them, he’s not the fella I thought he was.’

Smiling to herself, Lucy retreated to the kitchen where she boiled the kettle and made the tea, then came back into the parlour with a plate of little fairy cakes. ‘Have one of these,’ she suggested. ‘It’ll soak up the gin.’

Bridget laughed aloud. ‘So now you’re telling me what to do, is it?’ she spluttered. ‘Seems to me you’re getting above yourself, young woman.’

Seating herself in the other chair, Lucy leaned back, cup in hand and waiting. ‘Well?’

Bridget frowned. ‘Well what?’

‘What’s the latest news then?’

All in a rush as was her way, Bridget went over all the usual items of gossip. ‘Little Tillie’s gone off on a week’s holiday to the Lake District. She fell out with her boyfriend a few days back and says she’s finished with men forever, but she says that all the time and then she’s off again, seeing some other lanky, pimply, no-good thing.’ Taking a breath, she proceeded at a faster pace. ‘I said to her, I said, “Will ye never learn, girl? The buggers are only after what’s in your drawers,” but will she listen? No, of course she won’t!’

Lucy thought Tillie had done the right thing. ‘The change of scene will do her good. The Lakes are so beautiful. When she comes back, she can stay with me if she wants to.’ Lucy had been through this all before with dear Tillie.

‘What? Stay with you?’ Bridget was horrified. ‘She’ll do no such thing! I need her back at the house, I do. While she’s been gone, I’ve had to take on some useless woman from the other side of Liverpool.’ She gave a long, agonising groan. ‘I won’t even tell you what a pain she is.’ Rolling the palm of her hand across her forehead, she gave a trembling sigh. ‘Sometimes I think I was born to be a martyr.’

‘Oh Bridget, don’t be so dramatic.’ Wisely changing the subject, Lucy enquired, ‘So tell me, what else is happening?’

Fast recovered, Bridget launched into the next snippet of news. ‘I’m having a new bathroom fitted upstairs – all black marble and best cream carpet. Going posh, I am.’ She gave that naughty wink again. ‘That’ll cost the clients a few bob more for their pleasure, I can tell ye.’

‘And what else?’

‘New curtains in the sitting room, o’ course. And I’m considering whether to have the old Victorian fireplace out and get a new one fitted …’

Lucy listened patiently while Bridget outlined all the changes she was having made to the house. ‘Like I say, it’ll cost a bob or two, but no matter. It’ll be the clients that pay, I’ll make sure o’ that.’

‘And what news of the girls?’

Bridget took a long gulp of her gin. ‘That’s what I meant to tell you,’ she said. ‘Mandy’s only gone and got herself pregnant …’ Drawing breath she launched into the lecture. ‘Time and again I’ve told them, “You must never let yourself get with child,” but will they listen?’ She gave a long, shivering shake of the head. ‘Not at all! Now I know you wouldn’t be without your Jamie for all the tea in China, the darlin’, but you’ve got to admit, it’s not the easiest thing in the world, is it, having a bairn without a ring on your finger? Anyway, our Mandy has decided to marry the fella in question, and now she’s gone off to meet his family, would ye believe? Of course she won’t tell them about her job, nor will her fiancé, who is a nice young man, I’ll give him that. Nor will she let on that she’s already with child or they’ll immediately think she’s a trollop, and she’s not.’

She drew another, longer breath. ‘Mandy’s a good girl, always has been. To tell you the truth, her heart’s never been in her work, so it might be as well that she’s gone.’

Lucy was pleased. ‘I hope she remembers to write.’

‘I’m sure she will,’ Bridget answered. ‘But I don’t really expect we’ll see much of her again, because the fella is French, and that’s where she’s been whisked off to – a place called Montpellier.’ She sighed. ‘And there’s me, left in the lurch, so I am.’

Lucy chuckled. ‘You’ll have to get your fella to comfort you then, won’t you?’ She had wanted to ask after the ‘gent’, and this was her chance.

‘I’m sure he’ll comfort me if I ask him,’ came the confident answer. ‘He’s a real gentleman, bless his kind heart.’ Bridget dredged her glass and held it up. ‘Just a wee drop more?’ she suggested. ‘Be a friend. Send me on my way with a smile.’

Shaking her head and thinking how Bridget would never change, Lucy poured her another drink.

‘Ah, but aren’t you the lovely woman!’ Bridget said, gulping down the gin.

When she again held out her glass, Lucy was adamant. ‘No. I won’t be responsible for spoiling your date. If you want another drink, you’ll have to get it yourself.’

‘I wish you’d stop jumping to conclusions.’ Bridget was suitably indignant. ‘I’m only handing the glass back.’

It was just as well, because when she left half an hour later, her hat was tipsy on her head and her legs just the slightest bit wobbly. ‘I’ll see youse again,’ she told Lucy. Then she lifted her skirt and clambered into the open-topped car.

Falling into the passenger seat, she plonked a smacker of a kiss on the man beside her; a ‘gent’ indeed, with his tailored moustache and cream-coloured blazer, he looked a right dapper. He also had red blood in his veins because having caught a glimpse of her knickers when she cocked a fine leg to climb into the car, he took the liberty of stroking his hand along her stockinged thigh, all the way up to the suspender, quickly removing it when he saw Lucy looking on with amusement.

She nodded a greeting to him and he nodded back. ‘Hold onto your hat, my sweetie,’ he told the blushing Bridget. ‘We could get up to thirty miles an hour if I set my mind to it.’

He set off with a roar and a squeal, with Bridget laughing and screeching like a silly schoolgirl beside him.

Lucy held back the laughter until they were out of sight, then she collapsed in hysterics, mimicking Bridget as she was wont to do. Oh, how she hoped her friend could hold onto this one. He was an absolute treasure. Priceless!

Going inside, she wiped the tears from her eyes and made herself another cup of tea. Thirty miles an hour indeed! she thought, then said aloud, ‘I don’t know about holding onto your hat. If you ask me, it’s not the hat you’re in danger of losing so much as your pretty silk knickers!’

The laughter bubbled up again; the sight of well-upholstered Bridget in her wonky hat, flashing her lingerie, and the dandy-man goggle-eyed at this vision of heaven, was all too much for Lucy. She laughed so much that Jamie woke up!

But if Bridget was happy, she thought, picking her son up and hugging him, then so was she, because if it hadn’t been for Bridget, she would have been lost, long since.