Christmas Wishes (47 page)

‘Not the truth, not yet,’ Gillian had said decidedly. ‘Poor darling, she sets so much store on those “sightings”. It would break her heart to know she wasn’t seeing with her real eyes, but only with her mind’s eye. Leave it to me, Edward. I’ll find the right moment.’

But she had not done so, Edward thought ruefully now. And he had gone and put his great foot right in it, and ruined Joy’s day. But never mind, he’d make it up to her, take her to Cae Madog and help her to see everything – the cows in the meadow, the sheep on the hill, the poultry clucking round the yard, even the ducks on the pond. He just knew she would love it, for hadn’t she loved everything about the Dodmans and life on a Devonshire farm? All he had to do was explain … He had best pluck up his courage and go round to Wittard’s and ask if he could have a word with Joy.

He arrived in reception and was immediately recognised by the young lady behind the desk. Before he could frame his request, however, she spoke, her voice plaintive. ‘Where’s Joy? She should have been back half an hour ago, but there’s no sign of her yet. We thought she were wi’ you.’

‘She’s not,’ Edward said briefly. His mind raced as he sought for an acceptable explanation. ‘She wasn’t feeling too well, so if she’s not here I expect she’s gone home.’

‘Oh, ah; there’s a lot of it about,’ the receptionist said, but she was speaking to Edward’s back. He was already heading for Old Gadwall Street.

As he hurried along he realised that for the first time he was rather dreading entering the Lawrence kitchen, which would be full of people, including Joy. Their first meeting after the quarrel was bound to be difficult, but he hoped he might persuade her to go for a walk. If he managed to, he would apologise all over again and somehow make things right, though as yet he had no idea how. He wished he could consult Gillian, but that was plainly impossible since neither Gillian nor Keith was any longer in Liverpool. Keith had taken up his old summer job at the Imperial Hotel a couple of days before and Gillian was working there too, waiting on the guests at mealtimes.

Edward smiled to himself as he walked up the familiar road. Joy had been so envious, poor kid, wishing half a dozen times a day that she, too, could be a waitress. ‘They get lovely tips and really good meals as well, and quite a lot of time off,’ she had told Edward wistfully. ‘I like Llandudno, especially the beach; if I were lucky old Gillian I’d spend all my spare time swimming in the sea, exploring the rock pools and building sandcastles.’

She had laughed at herself and Edward had laughed with her. ‘You’re a real baby,’ he had said affectionately. ‘The staff at these big hotels get hardly any time off in the summer, so you’d find yourself swimming in the sea and building sandcastles at midnight when you ought to be sleeping.’

Joy had shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t make any difference, would it, since to me it’s as dark at noon as it is at midnight; still, I take your point.’ She had chuckled, her mouth curving into the sweet, wistful smile he knew and loved so well. ‘So I shan’t be a waitress after all. Never mind, Edward, you can think up some other nice career which I would like. Wittard’s and the switchboard are beginning to get me down.’

If only I’d spoken then, Edward thought sadly, making his way along the crowded pavement. Why didn’t I tell her about Uncle’s farm and how she would enjoy living there? Only of course his uncle hadn’t made the offer then.

He entered No. 77 by the back door, as he always did, and though there were indeed several people in the room, none of them was Joy. Mrs Clarke was at the sink, cleaning lettuces and new potatoes, Irene was sitting at the table with her little brother in her arms, feeding him spoonfuls of what looked like grey goo, though Irene referred to it as groats, and Chalky was putting away the crockery and cutlery he had just dried up. They all turned as Edward entered the room. ‘Hello ’ello ’ello,’ Chalky said breezily. ‘Hey, ain’t some people lucky dogs then! Here it is, nigh on two o’clock and you aren’t slavin’ over a hot desk. What’s up?’

‘Nothing. Everything,’ Edward said comprehensively. ‘Anyone seen Joy? Where’s Alex?’

Mrs Clarke turned away from the sink. ‘Alex has gone shopping; I offered to go with him but he said not to bother.’ She beamed at Edward. ‘If you want to know the truth, he’s gone along to the coach station to buy tickets for Llandudno. Joy’s not working this weekend so Alex thought we might all go down and have a day at the seaside.’

‘Oh. Llandudno. Right,’ Edward said. He started to back out of the room, then stopped, turning to Chalky. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We was invited to lunch by this good lady,’ Chalky said, jerking a thumb at Mrs Clarke. ‘I expect Alex will get you a ticket an’ all if you rush off to the coach station before he’s parted with his dosh.’

Edward was halfway down the street, retracing his steps, when a tram rattled up behind him. He glanced at the destination board:
Lime Street Station
, it read. Edward did not hesitate. He jumped aboard the vehicle whilst it was still moving, earning a sharp reproof from the conductor, and sank into a seat. It had suddenly occurred to him that the last place his Joy would go would be to Llandudno. She had been furious to learn that he and Gillian had discussed her mysterious ‘sightings’, so Llandudno, since the town contained Gillian, would be somewhere she would avoid like the plague.

In the back of his mind, a much likelier destination was struggling to come to the fore. If he sat quietly on the tram and let his mind go where it would, he was pretty sure he would be able to find Joy before any harm befell her. Suddenly it struck him: she would do as her sister had done, though for a very different reason. She would head for the Dodmans’ cottage, where she had been so happy, and that must be where he himself would go. It would be difficult, because he only had the haziest idea of precisely where the cottage was, but he knew that Barnstaple was the nearest railway station.

The tram rattled along at a good pace, though it was not fast enough for Edward. If only he could reach her before she bought her ticket, before she boarded a train, then he was sure his earnest protestations and apologies would be enough to bring her to her senses. No, that was not right; it was he who must come to his senses, not she. She had been right to object to the way he had behaved. He had scorned her rather touching faith in the whistler and had then compounded his faults by starting to cast doubts over her ability to see. However, he was prepared to crawl, to eat humble pie until it came out of his ears, to promise the unpromisable – that he would never ask her to marry him again – if only she would return and be his good friend once more.

The tram came to rest outside the station and Edward managed, by being most ungentlemanly, to be the first person off. He charged across the pavement, under the arch and into the concourse. A porter went by, trundling a noisy metal cage packed with suitcases, and Edward grabbed his arm. ‘Have you seen a girl, quite young – well, very young – carrying a white stick and wearing …’ Oh dammit, what had she been wearing? He had never taken much notice of clothes and saw Joy, in his mind’s eye, first in blue, then in yellow, then in pink.

But the porter was eyeing him up and down. ‘Blind girl?’ he asked knowledgeably. ‘No luggage, just a red shoulder bag and a white stick? I took her to the train, I did. Platform three; gorra ticket? Can’t go on the platform without—’

But Edward was already running towards the ticket office. Fortunately the queue was a short one and presently, heart hammering, Edward was asking for a platform ticket.

The uniformed man behind the glass sighed and reached under the desk, giving Edward a baleful look as he did so. ‘That’ll be a penny,’ he said wearily. ‘Last of the big spenders, ain’t you?’

He pushed the pink ticket towards Edward, who grabbed it and looked round for Platform 3, found it and ran over, and was about to hand his ticket to the waiting ticket collector when he realised that there was no train drawn up alongside the platform. ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said as the man held out a grimy hand. ‘Where’s the train?’

The man tilted his cap to the back of his head and scratched his thinning grey hair. ‘If you mean the 3.05, it left five minutes ago,’ he said laconically. ‘Next one’s in an hour.’

Edward’s heart descended into his boots, but all was not yet lost. There were other platforms, other trains; he only had one porter’s word for it that his little darling had been heading for Platform 3. Edward set off at a smart pace towards Platforms 1 and 2.

Joy arrived at Barnstaple station after what felt like days of travelling instead of hours. She was hot, weary and tear-stained, for when she had telephoned home after a mere couple of hours of travel it was to find the line engaged. She had tried again and again, which was how she had come to miss a connection, and in the end had given up, realising that either there was a fault on the line or someone had knocked the receiver off its hook.

Oddly enough, once she had accepted that she could not get in touch with her father she became far less anxious. No use fretting over what could not be helped, and angry though she had been with Edward, she found herself thinking quite calmly that he would guess where she had gone and reassure Alex.

Right now, however, the guard who had taken care of her on the train hailed a porter. ‘The young lady needs a taxi,’ he said. ‘Tell the driver to see her safely to her destination …’ He coughed, clearly embarrassed by what he was about to say. ‘She can’t see so good,’ he ended feebly.

Joy laughed when the porter took her arm. ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ she said cheerfully. ‘In fact I’m blind as a bat. But once we reach Millers Lane I can direct the driver if he’s unsure whose house is which because I was evacuated there during the war and know it well.’

‘Right you are,’ the porter said. Joy could hear that he was an elderly man and local, since he spoke with the familiar Devonshire burr. He led her out of the station and over to the taxi rank, hesitated, and then took her, she assumed, to the head of whatever queue there was. ‘Evenin’, Mr Charley,’ he said. ‘Any objection if I puts this young lady into the next cab?’

Joy guessed there was a good deal of nodding and winking and gesturing to her white stick going on, but though she always claimed that she did not want to use her disability to get special treatment she was too tired and too anxious to reach her destination to quibble. ‘Here we are then,’ the porter said jovially at last. He opened the car door and helped her inside, addressing the driver with mock ferocity. ‘You take good care of this young lady, Bert. She’ll give you the address she wants.’ He turned to Joy. ‘I know ’tes Millers Lane, but are you wanting the Goodys, or one of the cottages?’

Joy leaned forward and addressed the driver in ringing tones. ‘Oh, the Dodmans’ cottage, please.’

‘I knows it,’ the man said gruffly. ‘Here we go then.’

It was a fair journey out to Millers Lane; Joy, who had walked it often, reckoned it must be about five miles and tried to chat to the driver, but it appeared he was a man of few words. When they reached Millers Lane, however, she learned the reason for his apparent surliness. ‘I’ve got to pick up a regular fare who works nights at one o’ they big factories down by the river. It won’t do to be late acause they have to clock on,’ he explained, slowing as the car began to negotiate the ridges of the untarmacked lane.

‘Oh I say, I’m awfully sorry,’ Joy said guiltily. Poor man; he had obviously felt he could not refuse to take a fare who was blind. However, she assured him that once he reached the Dodmans’ cottage she could manage the short path to the front door and he would not need to leave the car to help her.

‘That’s rare good of you, miss,’ the man said gratefully. He stopped the car and left the engine running while Joy opened the door and jumped out. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’

‘Of course, I’ll be fine,’ she said happily. Journey’s end at last, she was telling herself as she fished the fare out of her purse, added a tip, handed it to the driver and turned to open the Dodmans’ small front gate. She heard the car roar off and smiled to herself; the Dodmans would hear the engine and be alerted to the fact that they had a visitor.

Before she had raised her hand to knock she heard a second engine and realised that another vehicle was approaching. Funny! Millers Lane led nowhere – well, it led to the two farm cottages and to the Goodys’ farm itself, but it was a dead end – so probably someone had turned into the lane in error.

Still, it was no concern of hers. She knocked. The strange car drew up outside the cottage, then the driver began the manoeuvre which Joy had expected. Yes, someone had driven into Millers Lane by accident, had realised their mistake and was turning round.

Odd, though, that no one had yet answered the door. To be sure, it was late; she had arrived at the station after ten o’clock. But the Dodmans, though early risers, rarely sought their beds before ten or eleven o’clock, and would come down to answer the door from sheer curiosity if nothing else. Joy heaved a deep sigh and knocked again, more loudly this time. She was tempted to simply lift the latch and walk inside, but suppose the Dodmans thought she was a burglar? Mr Dodman had an ancient shotgun … No, perhaps simply walking in would not be the sensible thing to do.

Joy stood there, gnawing her lip. Then she was struck by a sudden thought: it was Friday! Once a month, on a Friday, the Dodmans went into the village to a whist drive. Joy cursed. Of course it was just her luck to decide to come calling on whist drive night! What was more, if the Dodmans were at the whist drive they might have chosen to lock the doors. You could never tell; sometimes they did and sometimes they didn’t. She put her hand out towards the latch, hesitated, then swung round. Footsteps, the click of the gate, more footsteps.

Suddenly Joy was petrified, too frightened to scream, with nowhere to run and no idea who was approaching. She raised her stick in what she hoped was a threatening manner. ‘Who’s that?’ she managed in a small, shaking voice before a familiar voice spoke her name, familiar arms came round her and she found herself nestling into Edward’s embrace; fear and anger swamped in an enormous wave of relief and love.