The Bright One (50 page)

On Christmas Day the snow still lay deep. Breda got out of bed, crossed to the window and drew back the curtains. It was not quite daylight, but the brilliance of the snow took what light there was from the sky and offered back a white world. She would not, she thought, be able to get to Mass. The church lay down by the river; Mrs Wharton's house was at the top of a hilly road which led straight on to the moor. There was no way it could be done, though in her heart she knew that even if the church had been next door she could not have gone this morning.

She was thankful for the impassable snow. No-one except herself – and God, of course – would know what really kept her away. She doubted if even Graham would think of it. It was the first thing which had happened to her since she had met Graham which she would feel unable to share with him.

Her room faced the moor. She stared out at it. The thick, white blanket under which it lay was unbroken, unmarked. Pristine, pure. She could not face that word, and turned away, went back to bed until she could hear the rest of the house stirring.

By Monday the thaw had set in. Clearly the snow, having inconvenienced all except those who liked an old-fashioned, white Christmas, was going to be as swift in going as it had been in coming. Teetering down the hill from Mrs Wharton's house, Breda clung to Graham for fear of going flat on her back in the slush.

Christmas Day and Sunday had gone well enough. They had been warm and well fed – Mrs Wharton had seen to that, inviting them to join in the festivities with her family. Between Graham and Breda nothing had been said of their lovemaking on Christmas Eve, except that on first meeting the next morning Graham had said, ‘Shall I say “I'm sorry”, my love?' and Breda had shaken her head.

Nevertheless, she felt changed, felt that she must look different, and that everyone would notice this. Would it be apparent to the people at work?

Everyone who had promised to turn up for work that day did so, including Opal. She was accompanied by her ten-year-old daughter, Emmeline, and a tall, handsome young man whom she introduced as her son, Daniel.

‘They're both here to work,' Opal explained. ‘No passengers allowed. We've got exactly five days to give this place a new look, and most of what we're doing will have to be kept under wraps until Friday night, so as to keep the impact for the opening sale on Saturday.' She turned to Jim Sutcliffe. ‘I thought Daniel might give you a hand on Display, he being the artistic one – if you can use him, that is. Emmeline can help to mark sale prices on everything.' She smiled fondly at her daughter. ‘That should keep you quiet!'

‘You'd better come with me and the Display lot and look at the plans,' Jim Sutcliffe said to Daniel. ‘We'll decide where we go from there.'

It was the beginning of the busiest week of Breda's life. Every morning she arrived early, and every evening she caught the last possible train back to Akersfield, trudging up Waterloo Terrace, not knowing how to put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes she thought that the hot meal and the warm welcome which awaited her from her aunt, followed by her own comfortable bed, were all that enabled her to get as far as number 52.

But wasn't it all worthwhile, she thought, when Saturday came and the customers, eager to snap up the bargains they had seen temptingly displayed in the windows over the last three days, and advertised in the newspaper, rushed in the minute the doors were opened? She wondered how many of them knew it was Miss Opal herself who stood just inside the doorway, greeting them.

For her own part, Breda's work was largely over. For today she had to be on hand to take anything out of the windows, since only Display staff were allowed to do that. Apart from that, only small emergencies would claim her. As long as she could be found when wanted, she was free to wander around the store, to see the work in which she'd taken part actually on show. She eyed the intricate draping of materials on the Fabrics department, the colourful display of scarves and gloves, the piles of towels and bed linen, and the artistically designed sales cards, most of which had been done by herself and Daniel Carson.

Jim Sutcliffe came up to her. ‘I reckon it looks good,' he said.

‘I agree,' Breda said. ‘And the tills are ringing. Won't that please Miss Opal!'

Half an hour before closing time Miss Opal sent for her. ‘I want to thank you – as I have the others – for all the hard work you've put in over the last few weeks. You've done your part exceptionally well. I'd like to say that you and some of the others could have a day or two's holiday but I'm afraid it's not possible. I'm hoping you're going to be very busy here – and Mr Sutcliffe and the others from Leasfield have to be back there on Monday morning.'

‘I don't expect a holiday—' Breda began.

Miss Opal interrupted her. ‘You're going to have more responsibility. As time goes on perhaps more than you've bargained for. For that reason I'm giving you a pound a week rise as from Monday.'

Breda's eyes widened. A pound a week! It was far more than she'd expected. Now she
would
be able to take lodgings in Hebghyll! ‘Thank you very much, Miss Opal,' she said. ‘I'm very grateful.'

‘Oh, I shall expect you to earn it,' Miss Opal said.

Isn't it the best New Year's Day I've ever known, Breda asked herself as she left Miss Opal's office. She would find Graham at once, and give him the news.

He was as excited by it as she was.

‘You might be able to get a room at Mrs Wharton's,' he suggested.

‘No!' Breda said quickly. ‘No. I couldn't bear it, and nor could you.'

But wasn't the best thing of all about the New Year was that it was the one in which they'd be married? No more separate lodgings. They'd have their own place, and they'd be together for ever. Wasn't everything leading up to that?

But way down deep inside her there was one nagging worry which she wouldn't voice to Graham or to anyone. But for today she wouldn't let it nag at her. Just for today she would put it away from her.

Breda found lodgings easily enough. Graham enquired of Mrs Wharton, who recommended a Mrs Settle. ‘Four houses down the road from me,' she said. ‘Your young lady won't do better than Mrs Settle.'

If she wondered why Graham had not asked if
she
could accommodate his young lady, she did not say so. She would have refused anyway. She didn't hold with engaged couples lodging in the same house, especially when they looked as much in love as those two.

Mrs Settle offered breakfast and supper and a very small room with a single bed, an armchair, a wardrobe formed from a curtain hung across one corner, and a rickety dressing-table.

‘Luxurious it is not,' Breda said to Graham, when they left after she had agreed to take it. ‘But it's clean and it's cheap, and I can
just
see the moor from the window.'

It had to be cheap. Her wage, even with the increase, would only just run to it, taking into account that she would no longer have to pay her aunt. After she had paid for her lunches there would be little left to save towards her marriage, and she wanted to come to Graham with a decently filled bottom drawer.

Seeking lodgings was not her first priority in that week. Before another Sunday came she knew she must clear her conscience of the sin of Christmas Eve. On her first free dinner hour, telling Graham she had to do some shopping in the town, she sought out the church in Hebghyll and the priest heard her confession. She came away feeling relieved, though not totally. ‘Are you pregnant?' he had asked her. She had to tell him she did not know. Now she longed for the days to pass so that she might be freed, yet dreaded their passing in case she was not. She had heard it said that it couldn't happen the first time you made love, but she had no idea whether that was an old wives' tale, and there was no-one she could ask, however obliquely.

She said nothing to Graham of her fears, nor of the fact that she had sought absolution for the act. He would be hurt by the thought that he had driven her to the priest, and as for the other matter, if it was so he would know soon enough. So, though she was sick with worry, and it would be more than two weeks before it could be resolved, she would try to put it out of her mind.

She arranged to move into her new lodgings on the following Monday. At the weekend, Graham went home with her to Akersfield, to help her to move her belongings.

‘I'm right sorry you're leaving us, Breda love,' Josephine said. ‘I've enjoyed having you here, and so has your Uncle Brendan. So you must promise us you'll come back often and visit. Think of it as your home.'

‘Oh I will, Auntie Josie!' Breda said. It was an easy promise to make and she had every intention of keeping it. She would miss her aunt and uncle. Hadn't they made up, insofar as they could, for the family she'd left behind in Ireland?

‘When the weather improves – and it won't be more than a couple of months now,' Graham said, ‘we can walk over the moors to Akersfield and get the train back. We've done it often enough in the reverse direction.'

And then, on Sunday, the miracle happened. Father Delaney spoke to her after Mass. ‘I was hoping you would be here this weekend,' he said. ‘I heard only yesterday. Everything is all right!'

Breda stopped herself in time, remembering where she was, from shrieking with delight. ‘Oh! You mean we can be married? At last?'

‘That's what I mean, Breda.'

‘Then I must rush back and tell Graham! Oh, thank you, thank you!'

She ran all the way back to Waterloo Terrace, burst into the house like a tornado. Graham, reading the Sunday paper, looked up, startled.

‘What in the world . . . ?'

‘It's happened! It's come! Everything's all right!' she gasped.

A broad smile broke across his face.

‘You mean . . . ?'

‘Yes! We can be married! Oh, Graham!'

He grabbed her around the waist and swung her around.

They were still in each other's arms when Josephine and Brendan, the latter supporting his mother, arrived back

‘Hello, hello! What's all this then?' Brendan asked.

Breda and Graham broke apart. ‘We can be married!' Breda said. ‘Isn't it wonderful?'

‘Such a fuss!' Grandma Maguire said. ‘I thought it was something important, you rushing off like the Devil was after you. Now will someone spare a minute to help me off with my coat? And I'd like a cup of tea.'

Breda bit back the retort which rose to her lips. She would let nothing and no-one spoil this moment. ‘I'll make one,' she said. ‘Do I take it you won't want to come to my wedding, Grandma?' Her tone was light and teasing.

‘I'll think about it,' Grandma Maguire said.

From that moment it was all plans: fixing the date, fixing the place, deciding who would have to be invited and who could be left out.

‘I'd be happy with just you and me,' Graham said.

‘And so would I!' Breda agreed. ‘We don't need anyone else. But 'tis not possible.'

‘I should think not!' Josephine said. ‘What would it look like, your family not there? A hole-and-corner affair to be sure. And I hope you're going to be married from here, Breda. It's your home in Yorkshire.'

‘Of course I am,' Breda assured her. ‘Where else?'

‘I don't doubt my mother will offer to stage the whole thing in Reigate,' Graham said. ‘She'll say it's a long way for all the friends she'll want to invite to travel to Yorkshire.' His words cast the first shadow over the joyful discussion. Transported by delight, Breda had not given a single thought to Graham's family.

‘But it's just as far for my family and friends to travel to Reigate,' she said reasonably. ‘And in any case we don't want a big wedding, do we? We can't afford it.'

‘I don't think expense would be a problem,' Graham said.

‘But Graham love, I don't want your family to pay for my wedding! That wouldn't be right.'

Breda heard a sharpness in her voice. Surely they weren't going to quarrel over the wedding, not when they'd waited what seemed half a lifetime to be allowed to have it. She reached out and touched Graham's hand.

‘I'm sorry, love. Of course your parents will want to be at your wedding. And they'll be welcome. They'll have to stay in an hotel, of course, but they won't mind that, will they?'

They would deeply mind the whole thing, Graham thought. But he would not say so. It was his parents' problem, not his. They could solve it their own way.

The wedding was fixed, there and then, for the middle of February.

‘I shall write to Mammy at once,' Breda said. ‘Oh, I do hope she'll come! 'Twill not be the same without her.'

‘A perishing cold month for a wedding,' Grandma remarked.

‘Then I have to be thankful I don't intend to wear a flimsy white dress and a veil,' Breda said.

She would wear something new, of course, but something which would have a life after the wedding. Clothes were still rationed, though the rumour was that this wouldn't last much longer, and she couldn't afford to waste what coupons she had.

Graham proved right about his mother. On receiving the news of his wedding she wrote back by return of post, a charming, persuasive letter, suggesting that the whole affair would be far better carried out in Reigate. ‘More space,' she wrote, ‘for all your friends. I'm sure Breda will agree. I will be happy to arrange everything, and of course all expenses will be borne by your father, so no need to worry on that score.'