‘I’m so glad you called in for old times’ sake.’ They both rose and she felt herself trembling. This was it, the moment to let him go. They were two different
people now. He wouldn’t want to be involved in her world. They walked slowly to the hall way and the silence was so powerful.
Do I let him walk out of my life for ever or do I ask him back in? If I do, he must know some of the truth about me…What shall I do? This is the moment to find out. Help!
‘So what do you think about my hostel? Have I shocked you?’ she said, not looking at him as she spoke, trying to be breezy and businesslike.
Greg turned to her and smiled. ‘You’ve taken a huge risk. I think you’re mad but brave. I envy you your courage.’
Take a risk…courage…what did his reply mean? She smiled back.
‘It’s the Carnival Day soon. Do you think Bebe would like to come? There’s a fair and parade, and it should be fun. They’ve started up again. She can come in fancy dress…’ She cast out a line. Would he bite?
‘We’d love to come. Give me the date, we’ll be there, won’t we, Bebe?’
Gloria’s daughter was already running in and out of the trees. ‘It’s magic here…
Can we come again?’
They were halfway up the Dale on his way to see Sid Conley when Greg recalled Gloria’s last words: ‘Under the Victory Tree.’ He’d promised to give this message to Maddy and somehow he’d forgotten.
That was the trouble: one sight of her and all the old yearnings came rushing back. Everything else went
out of his mind and Gloria not dead a year. How could he even think of it? What was wrong with him? After the mess they’ve made of everything he couldn’t risk another cock-up. Bebe was his first and only concern now.
How the Brooklyn had changed now it was set up like a hostel. The drawing room was a big sitting room. The old kitchen was now a dining kitchen. There were bedrooms set out with beds like a dormitory. Why ever was Maddy on this crusade? He didn’t understand her–perhaps he never had. Better not to stir things up, better to stay away, and yet the Sowerthwaite Carnival sounded fun.
He stopped off for petrol at Brigg’s Garage. It was just the same old ramshackle shed with pumps in the forecourt. It still looked like the blacksmith’s forge it once must have been. His professional eye sized it up with interest.
Good spot on the crossroads, lots of through traffic on the way to the Lake District, a nice bit of land at the back, ripe for development. There was money in the Dales. Farmers had done well after the war. They needed new Land Rovers, tough jobs for a rough terrain. If he were old man Brigg, he’d want to expand and get a dealership and make a proper business out of it.
Greg laughed, remembering how keen he was to be their oily rag with his go-kart and his wheels, polishing the Belfields’ Daimler, and his first try at the wheel of the car. How could he not be fond of this one-horse town?
‘Look, Daddy used to work here.’ He turned round but Bebe was fast asleep. As he looked around him his heart just skipped a beat, made a drum roll. It was grand to be back.
The day of Sowerthwaite Carnival dawned fine, with blue sky, and all the weather pundits were right for once. ‘The weather glass is rising,’ said old Mr Lock. ‘It’ll be a right grand day.’
Maddy and Grace had set the three pregnant girls at baking for the cream teas, making scones, sponge cakes and Yorkshire curd tarts. None of them had much of a clue, being addicted to Wagon Wheels and Mars Bars.
Maureen, the first to arrive, was going to have a go. Cherry was all fingers and thumbs, and poor Sandra kept bursting into tears. They were only frightened kids, but Maddy was determined to teach them a few basic skills while they were with her. She kept thinking of Plum and her puppy-training regime. ‘What they need, Maddy, is routine and lots of firm love.’ Just what Plum had given the evacuees all those years ago.
She was going to make sure they enjoyed their day out at the fair. If they all wore white gloves with their maternity dresses no one would notice them in the crowds. In fact she’d bought rings for them all just so they could be anonymous.
There was the usual bustle of comings and goings, cakes to be collected and delivered. In a loose moment she’d been persuaded to be one of the judges for the fancy-dress parade. Oh Lord, that would mean her
dressing up old style, with a hat, a frock and the full slap on. Everyone dressed up for the Carnival.
While she was busy the girls would have to fend for themselves but she was worried she would offend half the town by choosing the wrong competitor in the fancy-dress parade.
Barney was alongside her, and the referee was going to be Archie Murray, the vicar, as usual. They’d been such champions of her cause.
She’d not heard another word from Greg since that unexpected visit, not even a letter. She didn’t know whether he’d bother to come so far out of his way, but she was going to doll herself up with extra care in case he did. She still had some pride left about her appearance. Sowerthwaite expected the Lady of the Manor to grace the public occasion with a bit of swank: a mink stole in case of a stiff breeze, a cartwheel mushroom hat and high-heeled shoes, even on the mud bath that was the Fellings recreation ground.
She had to provide jams and preserves for the WI stall, cakes for the cake stall, a bottle of wine for the raffle, bric-a-brac for the white elephant stall, and be expected to purchase something from every table so as not to give offence.
Rumours about the goings-on at Brooklyn Hall were rife, but Maddy was determined to hold her head up high. What she was doing was right and it was giving her such a sense of satisfaction and purpose never found in being a mannequin.
All the best stuff from the Brooklyn from the olden days was stashed away in the attic now: portraits, fancy
rugs and silver, none of it being appropriate for a mother and baby home.
They’d not had their first baby at the home yet, but Maureen was not far off her time to deliver. Then she’d be sent to the maternity unit at Scarperton. Maddy just hoped they’d get there on time and that she didn’t deliver today of all days.
The procession gathered up in the town square, waiting for the silver band to assemble in their red blazers with gold braid. There was the usual lorryloads of floating Rose Queens visiting from nearby villages and towns: Hellifield, Settle, and the district beyond; a queue of decorated floats, lorries dressed up in sheets and paper roses with benches on which sat each local princess in wide evening dresses and velvet cloaks, tended by an assortment of bridesmaids with ringlets and bouquets in baskets, and pageboys in velvet trews with scuffed knees and runny noses.
After them came the parade floats: the rugby club, the Guides and Brownies, the youth club, who were doing Bill Haley and the Comets in a rock ’n’ roll scene, the WI pageant float, the Townswomen’s Guild, Pedlar’s Dairy float, the Amateur Dramatic Society presenting their next play, wobbling on the lorry, vying with the Operatic Club with their costumes and noise. The procession was backed up right down the street, and behind them came the fancy-dress competitors of all ages, shapes and sizes. Then a parade of vintage cars and saloons, an old fire engine to the rear. The opener of the Carnival sat in an open-topped landau with the mayor in his regalia, and to her horror Maddy found
the judges were expected to sit in the next open-topped coach on view as honoured guests.
It was only the second Carnival since the war. So there was a great splash of ceremony about the crowning of the Carnival Princess, who was Miss Stephanie Sidwell, picked out of a hat at the youth club dance.
For one day of the year all the community gathered together to parade and spend money for charity. Not that any of it would come Maddy’s way. Her venture was still too new and daring and disapproved of to get much support. Most of the town just pretended the home wasn’t there. Nobody talked to her about it. She was a Belfield, and for once it worked to her advantage. If she wanted to use the old manor house in such a venture it was up to her. It was her money she was risking.
Now and again something came through the post–anonymous donations with little lines of encouragement. But she was on her own with this one and it felt lonely at times. At the end of each day, she carried her worries up the stairs on her own but for today she wanted just to enjoy the Carnival like everyone else.
For once the Yorkshire sun blazed down on the assembled crowds.
‘It’s faired up right gradely,’ said the mayor. ‘But what’s the hold-up now?’
They seemed to have been sitting around in the coach for hours, waiting for the band to strike up and the procession to begin.
‘There’s a hold-up–right at the front,’ the message
went down the line. ‘One of them lorries…stuck in the square and nothing can get round it.’
‘Blood and sand! That’s not a good start to the day,’ said the mayor. ‘Anyone for a pint?’ He laughed, pointing to the Three Tuns pub across the road.
Gregory and Bebe fought their way through the pavement crowds to where the fancy-dress competitors were gathering.
‘Don’t leave me, Daddy,’ Bebe cried, clinging on to his hand for dear life. She was dressed as Little Bo-Peep, with peek-a-boo bonnet, a long party dress and a shepherd’s crook with a toy lamb under her arm. Mrs Afton had borrowed this costume from her granddaughter, but Bebe was unimpressed.
‘It’s a baby costume,’ she whined. ‘I wanted to be a nurse.’
‘You will take what you’re given, young lady,’ Greg shouted at her. He was nervous about coming back, but he must give Maddy that message from Gloria. But how was he to find her among this throng?
They stood while the sun beat down, waiting for the procession to begin, waiting and waiting until everybody got hot and impatient. ‘What’s the holdup?’
‘First lorry’s broken down…typical. Nothing can move until it starts. And it won’t start.’
There were all sorts of noises, roarings and judderings. Greg dragged Bebe down the street. He could tell that they were doing the wrong things. Nobody had a clue.
‘Want a hand, mate?’ Greg asked, but he was ignored at first. ‘Look, why don’t you try…?’
His fingers itched to get his hands under the bonnet. What he didn’t know about setting up an engine wasn’t worth knowing. ‘Give it here,’ he ordered. ‘Will you mind my little girl?’ He turned to a young mother holding a baby dressed as Red Riding Hood. His shirtsleeves were soon rolled up and he twisted and turned knobs. ‘I think this might be the problem,’ he said. ‘Try it again?…No…not that one, the other.’ The mechanic beckoned him under the bonnet. They were sweating, covered in engine grease. The metal was hot, the sun reminding him of all those treks across France, fettling up army trucks.
‘Try again.’ Then the engine ignited smoothly and everyone cheered.
‘Owe you a pint, guv,’ said the lorry driver. ‘If you ever need a job Brigg’s your man.’
‘Not Derek Brigg…Briggsy? I used to work for your dad as his oily rag…Greg Byrne. You’ll remember me?’
‘One of the vaccies! Blood and sand! We were in the same class. You always were one for engines. How do!’
‘How’s your dad?’
‘Not good…terrible rheumatics. There’s just me now. Our Alan didn’t make it back from the Far East in the war.’
‘I’m sorry, but we’ll have that drink, Derek, on me. I’d like to talk to you a bit more about the garage, but not now or we’ll get lynched. You’d better move on.’
The parade was off at long last. The band was getting everyone in the mood as slowly they edged their way past the church where they’d made an arch of branches and leaves, and down the High Street under all the red, white and blue bunting, turning into the recreation ground with a flourish. There was a sea of clapping, waving noisy customers all rushing to enter the field. The funfair loudspeaker was working for once and it was time to make their way to the judging area.
Maddy was dreading this, but each age group was pegged to a post. There was a novelty class, family group, boys, girls, toddlers; so many classes to judge from, and hundreds of children.
‘Don’t worry, they’ll all get a consolation lollipop. Just pick the one who’s made the most effort,’ said the vicar, ‘and watch out for the professionals. They turn up at every fête in the district. They hire costumes or send for the stuff from adverts. You know the sort of thing–HP Sauce, Heinz Baked Beans. Don’t pick one of those. They’re not locals.’
They judged the contestants as they paraded round the ring, cowboys, Indians, fairies, Humpty Dumpty, Long John Silver, a cracking crocodile or red dragon–it was hard to tell which–and then Maddy saw the red ringlets of a Bo-Peep and smiled. If Bebe Byrne was on show Greg wouldn’t be far behind. Suddenly, her heart just danced. They’d come. He was here somewhere in the crowd, watching. Once this was over she’d be able to join them and take tea with them in the tent, do all the things a family did together on a day out.
The judges huddled together making lists, while the assembled princesses gathered on the platform for the crowning ceremony by the mayor and his wife.
The fancy-dress competitors were quickly dispersed to make room for the procession of visiting queens, and when Maddy looked round Bebe was gone and she was smothered in nylon dresses, with lace trims and petal girls excitedly watching for when it was their time to parade.
Then Sandra came running out of the crowd, ‘Miss…Maureen started–she’s wet herself!’