The Journey (19 page)

“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 hare 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 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 parlor 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, agonizing 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 snipper 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-colored 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.