Twisted Strands (2 page)

Again, she was silent. Then, in a voice so quiet that the man at her side had to strain to hear her words, she said, ‘And he left her, didn’t he? He left us both. He ran away to
sea.’

‘He was only young, love. No more than a boy, really.’

‘Did you know him?’

‘Briefly, when he worked in the factory in Nottingham for a short time. It was where I worked then.’

‘I thought you said they went to Flawford?’

Josh smiled down at her. ‘Oh dear, I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I’m not explaining it very well, am I, mi duck?’

In answer, Bridie smiled up at him, her cheeks dimpling prettily. She gave a little skip, her long black plait swinging. ‘Go on,’ she encouraged. ‘Tell me what happened. Tell
me why I’ve never met me grandfather Singleton.’ For a moment there was hurt in her eyes. ‘Doesn’t he want to meet me?’ Then she put her head on one side and eyed Josh
speculatively. With a maturity far beyond her years, she asked shrewdly, ‘Or is it me gran who won’t let
me
see
him
?’

‘I don’t think so, love, though I have to admit she never sees him herself either.’ He licked his thick lips. ‘Harry’s a hard man. An unforgiving man and he threw
your poor mam out of his house when he found out she was expecting a child. In fact, he threw the whole family out, young Jimmy – your dad – and even your gran and Auntie Eveleen too.
They all went to Nottingham to find work and that’s how I met them.’

‘My dad was with them then?’

Josh nodded. ‘He didn’t stay long, though. He wasn’t much of a worker. Couldn’t – or wouldn’t – get the hang of operating a lace machine.’
Suddenly Josh let out a loud guffaw of laughter that startled Bridie. ‘Your aunt Evie would have made a better twisthand than him – if she’d had the physical strength, of course.
Mind you,’ he added reflectively, ‘she was a strong lass in those days, having worked on the farm here.’

‘Auntie Evie? Did she work in your factory too?’

Josh was still chuckling. ‘It wasn’t my factory, love. I only worked there. The factory belonged – still does – to Mr Brinsley Stokes and his son, Richard.’

‘Uncle Richard?’

Josh nodded. ‘Yes, he met your auntie Evie and fell in love with her.’ He looked down at her as he added, his voice almost reverent, ‘And I met your gran and fell in love with
her. So some good came out of it all, didn’t it?’

Bridie nodded, unable to speak. Perhaps it had. For them. But what about her? Her father had deserted them, her mother had died and, although she had her gran and Josh, Auntie Evie and Uncle
Richard, her grandfather Singleton hated her so much that he never wanted even to meet her.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to shut out the hurt and humiliation. There was really only one thing that mattered to her. Or rather, one person.

‘What about Andrew?’ she asked, trying to still the tremble in her voice.

‘Andrew? What do you mean, “What about Andrew”? Sorry, I don’t follow. He works for your grandfather and lives in one of his cottages. I thought you knew that. I reckon
he was probably born there. I think his dad and mam worked for Harry an’ all. He grew up alongside Rebecca, see? And he was very good to all the family when they were in trouble. And, of
course, he’s your godfather.’

‘But he’s – he’s not related to me, is he?’ She held her breath, willing him to make the reply she wanted to hear.

‘No, he’s not. He’s not a blood relative, if that’s what you mean. Though . . .’ Josh had seemed about to say more, but stopped abruptly.

They had continued to walk along the bank, in silence now. She asked no more questions and only when they approached the gate into the farmyard did she say with a quaint, adult courtesy,
‘Thank you for telling me, Grandpa Josh.’

On Sunday, dressed in the shawl he had given her, Bridie waited by the farmyard gate for Andrew to appear at the end of the rough cart track leading to Pear Tree Farm. Then she
saw him, wobbling dangerously on his bicycle as he negotiated the deep, muddy ruts. Picking up her skirts, she ran to meet him.

‘Andrew, Andrew.’

The man’s smile seemed to stretch from ear to ear when he saw her and he put his feet on the ground to bring the bicycle to a halt. Jumping off, he laid it on the ground and opened his
arms to her. Laughing delightedly, Bridie ran into them and was lifted off her feet and swung round and round until she was dizzy.

As he set her down again, Andrew pretended to be out of breath. He put his hand on his chest and panted, ‘You’re getting far too big for such unladylike behaviour.’ But the
twinkle in his hazel eyes and the laughter lines that crinkled mischievously around them belied his words. He picked up his bicycle and, with one arm draped across her shoulders, they walked
towards the farmyard.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I’ve brought you?’

Bridie smiled up at him as, her mouth twitching, she said with pretended primness, ‘She that expecteth nothing shall surely receive.’

Andrew laughed loudly, startling the hens scratching in the yard, so that they squawked and ran mindlessly about in fright. ‘You sound just like old Harry. Him and his
preaching.’

‘And Gran says you spoil me,’ she smiled coyly up at him, knowing that he would never stop doing so.

‘Well, if I can’t spoil my favourite god-daughter, who can I, I’d like to know?’

Now she laughed aloud too, the sound bouncing on the breeze. ‘You! I’m your
only
god-daughter.’

‘There you are then. You’re bound to be me favourite, aren’t you?’

Bridie stopped suddenly and put her hand on his arm. ‘Andrew, I want to ask you something. I was going to leave it till later, but . . .’

‘Well, if you’re going to ask me to marry you, the answer’s “yes”.’

‘Good,’ she said promptly, ‘because when I’m older that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’

‘Eh?’ For a moment, Andrew looked startled but, as Bridie rushed on, the look of surprise was replaced by one of genuine alarm as he heard her out.

‘I want to come back to Flawford with you. I could be your housekeeper. I know you live alone and . . . and . . .’

‘Hey, hey, steady on, love.’ Andrew actually pulled away from her and held up his hand, palm outwards, as if to fend off her mad scheme. ‘What’s brought all this
on?’ He leant closer and said, trying to be stern though he always found it difficult where Bridie was concerned, ‘Have you been falling out with your gran again?’

Bridie pouted. ‘Not really, but I told her I’d run away and all she could say was that I was like me dad.’ Passionately she cried, ‘She doesn’t care what I do or
where I go. I said I’d go to Auntie Evie’s, but she said she wouldn’t want me either. But you do, don’t you?’

He glanced away, unable to meet her eyes now and Bridie felt a chill run through her veins. She frowned and bit down on her lower lip to stop it trembling as she muttered, ‘You don’t
either, do you?’

‘It wouldn’t be right, you living with me. A young girl with an old bachelor like me. Your gran wouldn’t approve.’

Bridie began to protest. ‘You’re not old. You’re . . .’ Then she paused and frowned. Suddenly she realized that she had never really stopped to think what age Andrew must
be. He had always been just ‘Andrew’, whom she had idolized all her life.

‘And then there’s your grandfather,’ Andrew was saying. ‘Old Harry.’

Bridie pulled away from him. Pouting, she said, ‘You’re like all the rest. You don’t care about me.’

Andrew grasped her arm so tightly that Bridie winced. ‘Don’t say that, Bridie. You know I care about you more than anyone else in the world. Don’t
ever
say that about
me.’

‘Then why can’t I come and live with you? And then, when I’m older, we can be married.’

She felt his grasp loosen and, as his hand fell away, he groaned deeply. ‘Bridie, that’s always been just a joke – a bit of fun – between us. I’m far too old for
you. I’m almost twenty years older than you. You should marry someone of your own age, not an old feller like me.’

‘You’ve never believed me, have you? Everyone’s always laughed at me when I’ve said I’m going to marry you when I grow up.’

‘Bridie, love, from what I’m told, all little girls say they’re going to marry the man closest to them. Some even say their dad, or their brother—’

‘No, no, that’s not allowed.’ Bridie was shaking her head vehemently.

‘I know it isn’t,’ Andrew said quickly. ‘What I mean is, they say that before they understand the – the . . . well, about life.’

She stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Andrew ran his hand through his brown hair. ‘It’s not for me to explain things to you, love. That’s for your gran to do.’

‘Oh,
that
! I know all about
that
.’ Suddenly she seemed much older than her twelve years. ‘You don’t grow up on a farm without knowing what goes on. When the
boar visits and—’

‘Stop, stop!’ Andrew put up his hands once more. ‘You’ll have me blushing.’

She grinned at him now and he put his arm about her shoulders again. Their easy friendship restored, they walked towards the house. ‘When you’re older you’ll have an army of
young suitors beating a path to your door and you’ll forget all about wanting to marry me.’

She said nothing, but promised herself: Oh no, I won’t. I won’t ever stop loving you, Andrew Burns.

Bridie led Andrew into the farmhouse by the back door, through the scullery and into the kitchen. Her grandmother was placing a huge piece of roast beef on the table in front
of Josh, who wielded the carving knife against the steel with rhythmic movements to sharpen it.

‘Hello, Andrew, come and sit down. Did you have a good journey?’ Mary fussed around him, pulling out a chair for him at the table as she invited him to join their meal. Her tone
sharpened noticeably as she turned to Bridie. ‘Go and drain the vegetables in the scullery, girl. There are two tureens ready. Look sharp.’

Mary turned to the black-leaded range. A roaring fire heated the oven, where all their meals were cooked. On the opposite side was a tank for water, heated by the same fire and ladled out of the
lid in the top. A kettle sat on the hob near the glowing coals, singing gently.

Bridie hurried between scullery and kitchen, carrying the tureens laden with steaming vegetables: potatoes, fresh spring cabbage and sliced runner beans preserved in salt from the previous
growing season, washed thoroughly now and boiled, to enjoy through the winter.

Bridie loved Sunday dinner, especially when Andrew came. She would pull her chair close to his and listen as the grown-ups talked. Josh would tell him, in detail, all about the work that had
been done about the small farm since his last visit. Today he had a piece of news.

‘Stephen Dunsmore is selling off bits of the estate. Rumour ses it’s to pay his gambling debts. Anyway,’ he went on, beaming with pride at Mary, ‘We’ve bought
another field alongside the beck. We can increase our herd now.’

‘More cows to milk,’ Bridie said and cast her eyes to the ceiling.

‘No, I – I mean, we . . .’ He glanced at Mary in apology, but she only smiled fondly at him. Josh continued. ‘We thought we’d buy beef cattle. Breed, you
know?’

Bridie felt a thrill of excitement. ‘We’d have baby calves?’

Josh nodded and Bridie clapped her hands.

‘I thought you were set on leaving, miss,’ Mary remarked drily and Bridie squirmed in her seat. For a moment the pull of more animals to care for was strong.

Puzzled, Josh glanced from one to the other. ‘What’s this?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Mary said quickly, ‘Only Bridie getting on her high horse and making idle threats when things don’t suit her.’

Bridie opened her mouth to argue that her threats were anything but idle, but Andrew was shaking his head in wonderment. ‘You’re a marvel, Josh.’ He smiled. ‘How
you’ve taken to the country life. If I didn’t know you were a townie born and bred, I’d believe you’d never lived anywhere but here in the whole of your life.’

Josh chuckled and his jowls wobbled. ‘There’s a lot to be said for city life, but I always had a yen to be in the country.’ He laughed again. ‘Strange, isn’t it?
Eveleen and I seemed to have swapped places. She’s taken to the city life.’

‘That’s because Richard’s there,’ Andrew said softly and there was an unmistakable note of longing in his tone. ‘She’s with the one she loves, isn’t
she?’

‘True enough,’ Josh said and touched Mary’s hand across the table. ‘And I’m with the woman I love.’

‘Oh, Josh, you old softie.’ Mary smiled and tapped his hand as if in gentle admonishment. But even the young girl could see from the pink tinge suffusing her grandmother’s
cheeks that age was no barrier to love. Bridie watched the interplay, feeling, as she always did at such moments, excluded. She leant against Andrew and smiled coyly up at him. ‘Perhaps
you’d like to come and live in the country too. Would you?’

‘Oho, not me. There’s not much I don’t know about framework knitting. Trouble is – it’s
all
I know. ’ He pulled a comical face. ‘And besides,
I’m frightened of cows.’

Around the table, they joined in his laughter.

‘So,’ Bridie went on, ‘tell us what’s been happening to you this week.’

The guarded look that always seemed to come into his eyes when she asked about his home life was there again. ‘Oh, just work as usual. You know.’

‘No, I don’t know,’ Bridie burst out. ‘I don’t know because I’ve never been allowed to visit you. I don’t know where you live and work
and—’

‘Bridie,’ Josh spoke sternly. ‘That’s enough. I won’t have you upsetting your grandmother.’

‘But—’

‘I said, that’s enough!’

Colour suffused the girl’s face and she bit her lip as she flashed a defiant look at Josh, but she said no more. Beneath the table, Andrew squeezed her hand warningly.

For several moments, the meal continued in silence, the only sounds the singing kettle on the hob, the settling of coals in the range’s grate and the clatter of cutlery against plates.

At last Mary laid her knife and fork carefully together and leant back in her chair and sighed. ‘I suppose I ought to ask you how my mother is, Andrew. And – and my
brother?’