Songbird (28 page)

He tried to see it from Maddy’s point of view. “Yes, the pair of you did right in keeping the lad here with us. What’s more, I don’t think Maddy should come back for him, until her aunt is mending and settled. So, in my opinion, the sensible thing is for her to concentrate on the situation in hand, and let us get on with our bit at this end.”

“That’s exactly what we thought,” Ellen said, relieved. “And we mustn’t forget that little Michael has only recently stopped his regular checkups. He’s still a bit wobbly after that bad start he had.”

“That settles it then.” His face beaming with a smile, Bob informed Ellen, “When the lass calls, make sure you tell her that everything’s all right and she’s not to worry. The three of us will still be here, fine and dandy, when she gets back.”

“I will — and thank you, Grandad.”

Crossing the room, Ellen threw her arms round him. “I knew we could count on you.” She had a nagging thought. “What if the neighbors start asking where Maddy is? Especially Nosy Nora from next door. Lately, she’s taken to drooling over little Michael every time Maddy takes him out.”

“We’ve got nowt to hide!” he retorted. “So you just tell that interfering old biddy how it is! Knowing her, she’ll have it round the street in no time, and if everybody knows the truth, there’ll be no need for anybody to make up stories, will there?” He gave her a wink, then tapped the side of his nose in a conspiratorial fashion. “Keep the enemy close. That’s the way to win a war.”

“Shame on you, Grandad,” she chided. “You’re a canny old devil, that’s what you are.”

“It’s old age,” he grinned. “You haven’t got the strength to run, so you learn how to duck and dive.”

The sound of Michael crying for his breakfast, sent Ellen running up to fetch him.

“Give him to me while you get his bottle ready.” Grandad tickled the baby under the chin. “See here now, little fella, yer mammy’s gone away to look after your great-aunt.” He lowered his voice. “Poor old thing, all alone like that. It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t throw herself down the stairs to get a bit of attention…”

“Grandad!” Ellen wagged a finger. “That’s not a very nice thing to say, is it?”

“Aye well, it were only a passing comment.” He paused, his voice falling to a whisper. “Mind you, there’s many a poor neglected soul who must think of it from time to time, especially when there’s no one to care if they live or die.”

Sensing a sadness about him, Ellen went to hug him. “Grandad?”

“Yes, lass?” The smile was back, and suddenly he was his chirpy old self again.

“What you just said…” The girl had to ask. “Did
you
ever feel like that? Lonely enough to throw yourself downstairs?”

“Wherever did you get an idea like that!” He looked shocked, then burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t
dare
throw myself down the stairs. The weight of me bumping from step to step would bring the house down!”

In spite of herself, Ellen had to laugh.

As she walked back to the cooker, she turned to see him gently blowing bubbles into Michael’s neck, the two of them chuckling, and felt a surge of sadness. She could not help but think about the way he had looked, when he talked about lonely old folks, and it struck her how hard it must have been for him, when she had stayed away all that time.

Loving him more than ever, she watched them a moment longer. “Your mammy will miss you like thunder,” he was telling the child, “but you’re not to worry, ’cause she’ll be back afore you can whistle dixie. Meanwhile, you’ve got me and our Ellen to contend with, yer poor little devil.” He sang a lullaby and afterward brought the child to Ellen, who had his bottle warm and ready. “He’s all yours,” he said, and went away whistling, leaving Ellen both relieved and guilty that he had taken her made-up story at face value.

“Come on, little one.” She cuddled the child onto her lap and put the teat near his mouth. He immediately lunged for it hungrily. By the look of Michael’s rosy cheeks and fat little legs, he was thriving on the new feeding regime.

An hour later, with his belly full and his nappy changed, Ellen laid him in his pram downstairs, so she could keep an eye on him as she did some chores. “Sleep tight,” she murmured tenderly. “Your mammy’s not here to tuck you in, but you’ll never go short of love, I can promise you that.”

When the rain started pitter-pattering against the window, she looked up at the darkening skies with a sinking heart. “Stay warm and safe, Maddy,” she whispered. “And let me know where you are — as soon as you can.”

One thing was certain.

She would not rest easy until Maddy’s voice was on the other end of that phone.

Maddy felt incredibly
lonely.

For six hours and nigh on two hundred miles, she had observed the changing winter landscape as she traveled further away from the home and the people she loved. Whenever the coach stopped to let passengers off, she was tempted to leave it and make her way back, as fast as she could, to Ellen and Michael, and that dear man who looked on her as another granddaughter.

The only thing that stopped her was the reason she had left, and it remained as pressing today as it was yesterday, and would be tomorrow. Steve Drayton’s henchmen were still out there, looking for blood.

She glanced at her watch. Realizing it was Michael’s naptime, she closed her eyes and imagined him tucked up in his cot. She visualized Ellen leaning over him, whispering soft assurances into his ear and keeping an eye on him as he slumbered. Like dear Alice, Ellen had enriched Maddy’s life. And she was immensely grateful for that.

Now as the driver pulled over and the last of the passengers had alighted, Maddy moved up to be nearer to him. “How far to the terminus now?” she inquired.

“It’s half an hour nearer than the last time you asked.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” He glanced back at her. “You seem a bit on edge, love.” Since she ran out of the coach in a panic, he had noticed how she fidgeted and looked about, as though waiting for someone to pounce on her.

Unsettled by his curiosity, Maddy chose not to answer. Instead, she asked, “What’s it like, Bedford?”

“It’s an old market town, set on a river, with bridges and cafés and a grand old market at its heart. There was a time when everyone knew everyone else, but like any other town, the population grows and times change; sometimes for the better, sometimes not.”

“So when did Bedford begin to change?”

“Ah, well now.” He thought back to when he was younger. “I can tell you they had an influx of Italians in the fifties — looking for work in the brickyards, they were. They found work aplenty, so they stayed on and raised their families.” He made a quick calculation. “There must be three if not four generations of Italians now, and as far as I know, they’ve been model citizens. And though they are proud of their Italian heritage, they’ve integrated naturally into the local community.”

“How do you know so much about Bedford?”

“Because that’s where I grew up. My parents had a greengrocer shop, and my brother drives a cab there.” He thought about his rampant youth and the nostalgia was never far away. “I met my first sweetheart there,” he confided, while keeping his eyes on the road. “I spent my last couple of pounds hiring a rowboat to take her up the river, where I proposed.”

“Sounds lovely.” Maddy had visions of sunshine and romance.

“It was the most beautiful day,” he went on. “We rowed right up the Great Ouse, then we pulled in, put up the oars and had a picnic on the grass bank.”

“Did you marry her?” Maddy was enthralled.

“I did,” he said dreamily. “She said yes, and before she could change her mind, I had her down the aisle and wed.”

“So, no regrets then?” Maddy recalled her own dreams of walking down the aisle, dressed in white and giving her vows to the man who loved her. The reality had been so very different and now she feared her dreams might
never
come true.

“No regrets,” he answered. “She was the best thing that ever happened to me. Over the next fourteen years, we had two sons and three daughters.” The smile slipped away. “Sadly, my wife gave her last breath to my youngest daughter. It was a terrible blow. I’ve never wanted any woman since then. No one could ever come close to her. But I’ve got my family, and that’s all I need.”

Realizing that she had awakened painful memories, Maddy changed the subject. “Do you think I’ll be happy in Bedford?”

“Don’t see why not,” he answered crisply. “It’s got everything you’d ever want in a town — shops to lose yourself in, colleges and libraries for sharpening your brain, oh, and that amazing river with its walks and parks.” And because she had intrigued him, he wanted to know, “Are you moving to Bedford for good, or just visiting?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she answered cagily. “It all depends on whether I can find work and lodgings.”

“If you want work, there are plenty of people who would take on a presentable girl like you. As for lodgings…”

Just then, the traffic lights changed and he drew the coach to a halt. “Good Lord!” Glancing down at his diesel tank, he gasped with horror, “I’m on reserve. I’ll need to take a detour and collect some fuel, or we’ll end up pushing the damned thing.” Glancing at Maddy in the mirror, he informed her worriedly, “I’m sorry, but it’ll make us fifteen or twenty minutes late, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right,” she assured him. “I’m in no hurry.”

It being too difficult to turn the coach around at the junction, the driver signaled left and followed the country lane. “Nearest garage is a matter of ten minutes or so through the back lanes, but it’s a bit bumpy, so it might be best if you return to your seat.”

Obeying him, Maddy sat back and enjoyed the beauty of the countryside. They passed two olde worlde pubs, and any number of quaint thatched cottages, and she remarked on how pretty it all was.

“We’ll be going through the woods any minute now,” the driver said. “You’ll see a smattering of villages when we get out the other side. There’s Woburn, owned by the Duke of Bedford, then there’s Little Brickhill and Great Brickhill, and after that it’s only a mile or so to the garage. Once we’re back on the main road, it’s a spit and a throw, and we’ll be in Bedford town.”

True to his word, he arrived at the garage in no time. “Do they sell newspapers?” Maddy had become paranoid about reading the papers, in search of news that might involve Steve Drayton. She was terrified that he might escape from Brixton Prison and come after her.

“They might,” he offered. “Would you like me to fetch you one? It’s the least I can do for nearly getting you stranded.”

Maddy graciously declined and followed him inside, and there on the counter was a small pile of
Daily Telegraphs
.

There was just one customer at the counter — a tall, good-looking man with wayward dark hair, wearing a long, somewhat grubby oilskin. Maddy calculated him to be in his mid-thirties.

“That’ll be eight pounds, please, Brad,” said the bespectacled man behind the counter.

The man called Brad fished out eight pounds and handed it over. “So, have you had any luck with my notice?” he asked.

“Nope!” Spectacles Man made a grimace. “Seems to me how folks have lost the will to work. Either that, or there’s too much work to go round and they’re spoiled for choice. Would you like me to leave the notice in for another week?”

Brad looked disappointed. “I’m surprised. I thought I might at least get one candidate,” he groaned.

“Well,
I’m
not surprised. Like I told you, I don’t normally put notices up, but being as you’re a long-time friend, I made an exception. Folks who call in here don’t come looking for work, they come for fuel. It was a long shot, and I had hoped it might be of some use to you, but it looks like you’ll have to take out an ad in the local paper. Meantime, we can leave the notice there! You never know, there might be that one person who sees it and takes an interest.”

“Okay, we’ll leave it for another week,” Brad decided, “and thanks for your help. I really do appreciate it.”

He lowered his voice to an intimate level. “Since Tom and Joan moved to the coast, I’m absolutely desperate. I’ve got my hands full with the farming, there’s a new barn going up and pipes being laid right down to the spinney… the top fields flooded twice last year, and ruined the seedlings. And on top of that, I’ve had one man off sick for a week, and my desk is piled high to the rafters with urgent letters and bills.”

He heaved a sigh. “Sometimes you wonder if it’s all worth it. Without Joan to keep on top of it, the house looks like a tip. So, yes, we’ll do what you said… we’ll leave the notice for another week. Meantime, I’ll contact the
Bedfordshire Times
and organize an advert.”

“It’s worth a try. Trouble is, you never know what kind of person you’re getting. It’s always best if you can recruit locally. That way, there’s a chance you’ll already know their background.”

“Right. Well, thanks anyway. So, we’ll leave it a week, and see how we go.” He was about to turn away when he suddenly remembered, “Oh! I forgot — I need to fill my can. They’re late delivering my diesel, and I’m getting low. I daren’t risk running out altogether.” Sorting through his loose change, he paid the extra amount.

As he turned away, he almost bumped into Maddy. “Whoops!” he said with a sincere smile, before addressing the coach driver, to apologize for the wait.

Moving forward to the counter, the coach driver acknowledged his apology with a nod of the head. He paid for his fuel, and treated Maddy to her newspaper, which he promptly handed to her. “You might as well go and find the cloakroom,” he suggested, “while I finish up here.”

Stopping to look at the magazines on display near the door, Maddy overheard snatches of conversation between the driver and the man behind the counter. “There goes a worried man,” the latter stated. “As decent a bloke as you’ll ever meet.”

Taking the driver’s money, he chatted on, “…Name’s Brad. He’s a vet who also runs Brighill Farm, a couple of miles down the lane. Got a young son. His wife was killed in a road acident, couple of years ago. God knows how he’s coping with everything he’s got on
his
plate.”