Wait For the Dawn (49 page)

‘Aren’t we going home yet?’

‘Not yet, dear. We’ll catch the train. We haven’t much
time, though. It’s about to leave. We must hurry.’ Indeed, they had hurried all the way so far, whenever it was possible, and during the journey on the coach from Capinfell Lydia had sat impatiently, willing the horses to move faster.

They were too late, however. They arrived on the platform to see the end of the train as it steamed away into the distance.

‘We missed the train,’ Davie observed sadly.

‘Yes, we missed the train.’ Lydia felt she could have wept.

‘Where was the train going?’

‘What? To Redbury.’

‘And are we going to Redbury?’

‘That – that was my intention, but now . . .’ She did not know what to do. One thought that prodded at her mind was that she was a fool. She was a fool for thinking for a moment that he would remember, and yet . . . and yet he had sent the little picture . . . It
must
have been he who had sent it.

There was a guard nearby and taking Davie by the hand she went to him, and asked the time of the next train to Redbury. ‘There’s one in fifteen minutes, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘The twelve-forty-eight from Swindon.’

She thanked him. ‘We’ll wait,’ she said to the boy, and on a positive note she added, ‘and at least it’ll give me a chance to buy our tickets first, instead of waiting to pay on the train.’

She went back to the booking office then and bought the tickets for a return journey, after which they went back to the platform and took a seat on a bench.

The time dragged by.

‘Why are we going to Redbury, Mammy?’ Davie asked, and she could not give him an answer. He enquired a second time, and she said, holding back her impatience, ‘I have to, dear. That’s all there is to it.’

At last the train came in and they climbed aboard. Then a minute later and the train was moving again.

Stoke Halt was the next stop, followed by Stoke Carron. After that came the junction of Redbury, where so many of the passengers were bound. When the train had pulled in, Lydia alighted and lifted Davie after her. Then, firmly holding his hand, she quickly led the way along the platform and out of the station. She had not been to Redbury in several years, but she had no time to indulge in any nostalgic reunion with the place; she must get to the town centre and the square.

The only cabs in sight as they emerged onto the street were two that were already hired. She did not know what to do – to stay in the hope of one appearing or to make their way on foot.

‘Come,’ she said after a moment, ‘we must walk. It’s not far. We can’t wait around here.’

They set off, Davie’s hand stretched up to grasp her own. ‘Mammy,’ he said, ‘please, don’t walk so fast. I can’t keep up.’ They had come out onto the street now and she quickly came to a halt and crouched before the boy, her skirts in the dust. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she said. ‘I’m only thinking of myself. I’m being selfish. I’ll go a little slower.’ So saying, she straightened, took his hand again, and set off once more. Although she was able to force herself to slow her pace a little, it took all her concentration, for every cell of her being was urging her to run.

Then at the next corner a cab came into view and Lydia hailed it. It pulled to a halt and she gave the driver their destination. Moments later she and Davie were on board and they were starting off through the Redbury streets at a faster pace.

When they reached the square the cab driver stopped at the corner, and Lydia stepped down on to the pavement, lifted Davie down beside her and paid the fare. Her heart
was beating hard in her chest, and the thought came again into her mind that she was a fool for she was merely playing in a charade.

‘Where are we going now, Mammy?’

‘Just across the square, dear.’

And across the square they went, and into the little garden that was set on the side, the little garden with the laburnum tree, the arch, the benches and the water fountain.

They sat down on the same bench that she had taken that summer day all those years ago, when she had come to the city for her interview and to meet Ryllis. ‘Sit here, dear, beside me.’ She lifted Davie up onto the seat, and put her bag next to her on the right. Looking out of the garden she saw the familiar view that she remembered from when she sat watching out for her sister when they had lost one another in the confusion.
Perhaps you don’t have to be lost
. She could hear his voice.
But if you are lost, then it’s as well to have a special place to run to
. And then, his words on the back of the picture of the lost children:
We too?

She looked around her. There were people there; a couple was sitting on a bench, a youth had stopped to drink at the fountain, two young sweethearts stood facing one another, clasping each other’s hands and murmuring. Strangers all, like those that moved across her vision out in the square. The clock up in the tower said fifteen minutes to four. She was forty-five minutes late. Of course there was no sign of him – but had she truly expected that he would be there? How could she have been such a fool? Here she was, a grown woman with a child, and dragging that child on a wild goose chase over the city, in pursuit of some dream that she had harboured like the most senseless schoolgirl. What an idiot she was, to have thought for one moment that he would be there, that he would have remembered – but there was the picture, she reminded herself. There was the picture.

‘Are we there, Mammy?’

She turned at Davie’s voice and looked down into his anxious little face, shaded by the brim of his hat. He was affected by the concern in her own expression, by the anxiety that showed in every movement of her body. She must try to be calmer, for his sake if no one else’s. ‘Let’s take your hat off for a minute,’ she said absently. ‘You must be terribly warm.’

‘I am,’ he said. ‘Terribly warm.’

She took off his hat and ran her fingers through his hair. The perspiration was damp on his smooth brow. ‘There now.’

‘Are we?’ he said. He sounded concerned, a little worried.

‘Are we? Are we what, dear? What d’you mean?’

‘Are we there now? Have we got to where we’re going?’

His words came through to her in the heat of the summer’s day. She was damp with perspiration and saw the dust collected on her gloves and skirt. She felt the utter uselessness and pointlessness of it all. And suddenly it simply became more than she could bear and, although she closed her eyes, the tears welled up and burst between her eyelids and ran down her cheeks. She pressed her hands to her face and bent forward.

‘Mammy! Oh, Mammy, no!’

Davie’s cry brought a sob breaking from her lips and, angry at herself, she brushed away the tears. She must not cry in front of the child. She turned to him and wrapped her arms around him and drew him close to her. ‘It’s all right, my darling. I’m all right.’

There were tears, and fear too, in his own voice as he said, ‘But you’re crying. Oh, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.’

‘There, there . . . I’m not really crying,’ she lied. ‘I’m just a little hot and bothered. All that walking in the sun, and waiting for the train. Don’t be upset, my darling. I’m all
right now. We’ll have a little rest for a minute or two and then we’ll go on back home.’ She had forced the tears to stop, but she continued to sit with her arms around the boy, eyes closed, her chin resting on the top of his head, his small hand so warm in her own.

‘You were late.’

The voice, soft and without censure, came to her from somewhere to her right, and she opened her eyes and saw him standing there. He wore a soft felt hat and a light jacket with a blue cravat.

‘Oh,’ she said. And again, ‘Oh’ – a little sound escaping from her throat, a little breath of wonder. He was there. After all, he was there.

He came and stood before her. ‘I was here at three, just as I was all those years ago,’ he said with a faint smile, ‘and I waited a little while. Then I took a walk around the square, and I turned – and there you were.’ He paused. ‘You got the drawing. And you remembered.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I remembered.’ And then: ‘I could never forget.’ She picked up her bag and set it down on the flags at her feet, the boy’s hat on top of it, and Guy came and sat down beside her on the bench. He reached out after a moment and took her hand, then smiled at Davie who still sat held in the crook of her arm. ‘How are you, Davie?’ he said.

Davie, shy, and a little disorientated, pressed closer to his mother.

‘Perhaps he won’t always be shy of me,’ Guy said.

Before she could reply, Davie, still a little distressed by the rush and his mother’s tears and the strange scene, said, ‘Mammy, where are we? Have we got to where we’re going?’

‘What, dear?’ she said. And then: ‘Yes, we have.’

‘But – but where are we?’ His anxiety sounded in his voice. ‘Are we far from home?’

And now Lydia smiled, the faintest smile that just touched at the corners of her mouth. Relief. A look of relief. Her throat was tight with tears that could so easily be shed.

‘No, darling,’ she said, drawing him closer. She kissed the top of his head and looked at Guy over the boy’s hair. ‘No, my darling, we’re close. We’re very close.’

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If you enjoyed
Wait For The Dawn,
why not try further Jess Foley titles, all available in Arrow . . .

SO LONG AT THE FAIR

Growing up in a small Wiltshire village, Abbie Morris knows what lies ahead of her – a life of drudgery as a menial servant. But when Abbie’s mother casts the family into crisis, her world is turned upside down.

Six years later, the Morrises are rebuilding their lives and when Abbie and her sister Beatie set off for the country fair, the world seems a good place. Until a chance encounter with Louis, a handsome stranger, leads to tragedy.

Abbie struggles to put that terrible evening behind her, and when Arthur Gilmore comes into her life believes she might even find happiness. But then her past catches up with her, and it seems she might never cease to pay for the night she stayed so long at the fair . . .

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When Grace Harper is orphaned, her world falls apart. Life has always been hard, and now she and her little brother Billy are left homeless and alone.

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Things look desperate, and when she is offered the good life for herself and Billy, Grace is tempted. But is she, in search of safety for her little family, flying too close to the sun?

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In a small village in the West Country a baby girl is born into poverty. For little Blanche the future looks bleak.

Her life changes one fateful day when her mother is summoned to The Big House to nurse Marianne, daughter of a wealthy mill-owner. But although she and Marianne grow to care for one another as sisters, sisters they are not. And when Blanche meets and falls in love with Marianne’s intended husband, her struggle not to betray her closest friend threatens to destroy her happiness for ever.

A powerful saga of passion and pain,
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