Journey's End (9 page)
Driving like one demented through the streets of Liverpool, Bridget had pedestrians leaping out of the way. ‘Don’t you swear at me!’ she had snapped at an angry young couple who had the misfortune
to step out in front of her, and now she didn’t see the old dear who ran back to the pavement in fear for her life. ‘Sorry, love, but ye should have the good sense to look where you’re going!’ Bridget tutted as the old woman waved her stick at her. ‘Hmh! From the way she scooted up onto the pavement, she doesn’t need that stick at all.’
As she slowed down a little, Bridget grinned to herself.
‘I wouldn’t mind betting she only carries it about to whack folks on the head,’ she said aloud, and was still laughing as she pulled up outside an imposing office. Situated on a wide quiet street just a brisk walk from the city centre, it boasted her name above the entrance:
The Bridget Business Agency
Climbing out of her car, Bridget stood for a moment as she always did, filled with pride and
a sense of accomplishment to see what she had achieved.
The Bridget Business Agency.
Even now, after so many years, she could hardly believe that this imposing building was really hers, paid for lock, stock and barrel. ‘You’ve done well, Bridget my girl,’ she told herself. It was a far cry from that little house in Viaduct Street, with its poky rooms and second-hand furniture.
At one time, these
offices had been two shops; one a man’s tailor’s and the other an ironmonger’s; the upper floors provided spacious living accommodation.
Having outgrown her previous offices, and wanting to stay fairly central, Bridget bought the two shops and gutted them. She redesigned the building and filled it with the most expensive furniture, creating the air of discretion and professionalism that her clients
preferred.
She had eight attractive young women working for her, and nowadays, the business was of a more respectable and lucrative nature. Most of the work was done over the telephone and through appointments, with the majority of clients being genuine businessmen needing escorts; though of course there was always the occasional gentleman who wanted a little more than that. After thoroughly
vetting them, Bridget did occasionally turn a blind eye.
But that was the exception rather than the rule for she had built up an admirable reputation in Liverpool and protected her standing like a tiger protecting her cubs.
Making her way upstairs, Bridget burst into reception in her usual robust manner. ‘Top o’ the morning, Amy, me darling.’ She strode across the room. ‘You’re looking pretty,
I must say. Off out, are you?’
Middle-aged and still single, Amy had taken the place of Tillie Salter as Bridget’s right-hand helper. With her baby-face and sad eyes that made a body want to hug her, she never over-dressed or went out of her way to show herself off; in fact, quite the contrary.
At home, she would wear anything and everything as long as it felt comfortable. But while at work
she was always smart and trim, with her hair tied back and her white shirt stiff and starched. But not this Saturday morning, for she had her hair washed and loose, and curled up at the ends, and she wore a soft blue blouse with a little daisy brooch on the lapel.
‘Will ye look at you!’ Bridget loved to tease her. ‘Don’t deny it – you’ve got a date, so ye have.’
‘No, I haven’t!’
‘Why else would
ye be done up all pretty, with yer eyes shining and a smile on yer little face?’
Amy blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘You’re imagining things, like you always do. I’m not going on a date.’
‘Hey now!’ Bridget wagged a finger. ‘You might be in charge when I’m not here, but I’m the boss and I’m allowed to think and say what I like. So don’t you forget it, young madam!’
In charge of the offices,
Amy had been with her for a good while now. She was an excellent organiser and had a flair for figures – which had never been Bridget’s strong point.
Amy explained, ‘I thought I might go to the pictures this afternoon, that’s all. It’s a Norman Wisdom film.’
Bridget glanced at the clock. ‘In that case, you’d best make tracks or you’ll miss the matinée,’ she told her. ‘I should never have asked
you to come in on a Saturday. It was unfair of me, so it was.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Amy assured her. ‘I didn’t know myself about the film until I got out of bed this morning. When the postman told me that he was going to see it, I just thought it would make a nice treat for me too.’
Bridget chuckled. ‘So, it was the postman put the sparkle in yer eye, was it?’
‘No, it was not.’
‘Ah, don’t
gimme that now. I’ve seen your postie and he’s a fine body of a man, so he is.’ She made a smiley face. ‘It’s him that’s taking you to the pictures, is it?’
Pretending to tidy some papers, Amy looked away. ‘He’s not taking me,’ she protested, ‘though it’s likely we could bump into each other …’
When Bridget opened her mouth to speak, Amy cautioned her, ‘Don’t leap to conclusions, because there’s
nothing going on, and that’s an end to it.’
‘Sure, I wasn’t about to say anything at all.’
‘Yes, you were. I saw it in your face.’
‘Well, all right, yes, I was about to speak. But it was nothing to do with the postman.’ She couldn’t resist another little jibe. ‘If you fancy a torrid affair on the quiet with him, who am I to judge?’
Ignoring her teasing, Amy asked, ‘So, what were you about
to tell me just now?’
Feigning indignation, Bridget pouted, ‘Ah, sure, I’ve changed me mind. I’m not telling you now.’
Amy laughed. ‘You’re itching to tell me. So, come on. What is it?’ Leaning over the desk, she folded her arms. ‘I’m not doing any more work until you tell me.’
‘So! Refusing to work now, is it?’ Bridget was enjoying the little exchange. ‘I hope ye realise, I could sack you
for that.’
‘But you won’t.’
Bridget’s smile grew wider. ‘I got a letter this morning.’
‘Oh? An old boyfriend, was it?’ Amy knew how to turn tables.
‘No, ’twas not!’ Waving the letter under Amy’s nose, she said, ‘You’ll never guess who it’s from.’
‘Aw, Bridget, stop teasing.’ With sleight of hand, Amy tried to get at the letter, but Bridget was too quick for her.
‘Don’t be impatient.’ She
could be a real torment.
Amy tried another tack. ‘Well, I’d best be going now. I’ve updated the appointment book. There’s just a bit of filing to be done, but that can wait until Monday.’ She began to turn away.
Horrified, Bridget grabbed hold of her arm. ‘Aw, go on then,’ she said, and thrust the letter at her. ‘Open it, why don’t ye?’
A moment later, Amy was clapping her hands and shrieking,
‘Oh my God, it’s Lucy! She’s coming to see us!’ Running round the desk she caught hold of Bridget and wouldn’t let go. Then she was crying and laughing all at the same time. Tears of joy ran unheeded down her face.
‘Behave yourself,’ Bridget chided. ‘Sure, I know you’re thrilled and so am I, but will ye stop the damned bawling … oh, now will ye look at that! You’re plastering snot all over the
sleeve of me coat!’
Amy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whimpered, ‘but I can’t believe it. All this time, Lucy kept her distance, not wanting to see us and not wanting to come back, and now she’ll soon be here, and I can’t believe it. Oh Bridget!’
‘Hey!’ Taking her by the shoulders, Bridget warned, ‘Don’t start bawling again, or I’ll have you locked away somewheres,
then you won’t see her at all, will ye?’
Amy laughed at that. ‘Oh, but isn’t it wonderful?’
The other woman agreed. ‘It is, yes – though I’m not sure why the sudden change of mind after all this time.’
Amy’s eyes widened. ‘You’re right. She hasn’t said why she’s coming to see us. Oh no. You don’t think she’s poorly, do you – really poorly, I mean? Oh Bridget, I couldn’t stand it if she was
coming back to tell us that.’
Although the very same thought had initially occurred to Bridget, she immediately put Amy’s mind at rest. ‘Oh for heaven’s sakes, will ye stop yer blathering! Think about it. If Lucy was that ill, she wouldn’t be travelling all this way to see us, would she, eh? Instead, I’m sure we’d be asked to go to
her.
’
Amy gave a sigh of relief. ‘You’re right. Oh, and it will
be lovely to see her, won’t it?’
Bridget smiled, that deep-down smile that spoke more than words. ‘Yes. Now get off, or you’ll miss the start of the picture, so ye will.’
While Amy went to fetch her coat, Bridget threw herself into the high-backed leather chair.
‘I’m away now,’ Amy said, then had a sudden thought. ‘Lucy won’t arrive today, will she?’
‘O’ course not. I only got the letter this
morning. You read it yourself. She’ll write again with a date to expect her. So, get off now, or you’ll miss the postman.’ She winked knowingly. ‘And ye wouldn’t want that now, would ye?’
‘Bridget! You shouldn’t be saying things like that. It could cause all manner of trouble if that kind of silly gossip got out.’
Bridget tutted. ‘Oh. Married, is he?’
‘No, he’s not married, and as far as I
know, he’s not planning to, though from the sound of it you’d have us both marching down the aisle whether we want to or not.’
Bridget gave a naughty wink. ‘Whatever gives you that idea?’
Amy shook her head in frustration. ‘I’ll see you later.’ That said, she hurried out of the room.
‘Wait on!’ Behind her, Bridget gave a loud groan. ‘Oh Amy, you little darlin’, I don’t want you to miss the
Pathé News, but you couldn’t fetch me a bowl of hot water, could ye? All that walking. Jaysus! Me feet are like two roasted chickens.’
Amy looked at her watch and gave a shrug. ‘I don’t suppose it will matter if I miss the first ten minutes.’
She returned to make Bridget more comfortable, though on delivering the bowl of hot water she gave her a lecture. ‘You’re too hard on yourself,’ she chided.
‘You do too much, always on the run, and frightening the life out of anybody who gets in the way of you and that mad machine. You need to remember, you’re not getting any younger.’
Bridget was indignant. ‘I didn’t build this business by sitting on my backside,’ she retorted. ‘And because there’s more competition ready to muscle in on me, I need to work at staying on top. I haven’t got time to
grow old, thank you very much, and I don’t need reminding how I’m not getting any younger.’
Dipping her bare feet into the bowl, she gave a long, delicious sigh. ‘As for my mad machine, that car is a godsend to me. It saves my legs and gives me the freedom I need.’
Leaning over, Amy gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told her. ‘I worry about you, that’s all.’ If she lost Bridget
it would be like losing her best friend, and entire family.
‘Well, there’s no need.’ Bridget dismissed this with a wave of her hand. ‘Now, be off with ye.’
As she went, Amy remarked once more on Lucy’s imminent visit. ‘I can’t wait to see her,’ she said. ‘I wonder if she’s changed?’
‘Well, o’ course she’s changed!’ Bridget scoffed. ‘We all have. We’re older and slower, with wrinkles and greying
hair.’
Amy laughed at that. ‘Not
you
!’ she called out as she went through the office. ‘You have your hair dyed and slap enough make-up on to frighten the devil. And you’re still as mad as a hatter.’
With that she closed the door and went on her way, leaving Bridget wondering about Lucy, and remembering how it was, before she went away. ‘Aw, Lucy my old friend, you had it hard, so ye did. What
with losing the bairn and then Barney, and ye never even told us about him until a year later. But I think I understand why you needed to shut us out.’ She lounged deeper into the chair. ‘You thought to save us any distress, and like a wounded animal, you needed a place to hide.’
She closed her eyes and gave up a heartfelt prayer. ‘God willing, you maybe found a measure of peace, in your far-off
hideaway.’
N
ORMALLY, ON A
Sunday, Bridget would not see hide nor hair of Amy, and if by chance she did pop round to see her boss, it was never before midday. ‘I like my extra hour or two in bed of a Sunday,’ Amy would declare. And if truth be told, Bridget also enjoyed her bit of a lie-in.
But not today, because on this warm, bright Sunday in April, Lucy was coming to see them. ‘What time do you
think she’ll arrive?’ Amy was like a cat on hot bricks.
‘Sit down and stop wearing out my floor, if ye please, and turn that blessed wireless off. I’m in no mood to listen to the Goons!’ Bridget groaned. ‘Like I’ve told ye for the umpteenth time, Lucy has a long way to travel. Who knows how long it might take. She’ll be here when she arrives – no sooner, no later.’
In fact it was a quarter to
four when Adam drove through the main streets of Liverpool; on this Sunday as on every other, the heart of the city was quiet, with only the odd window-shopper strolling about.
‘All this time and nothing seems to have changed,’ he remarked.
Adam had hardly got a word out of Lucy all the way up from Bedfordshire, and now as he tried hard to draw her into a conversation, he could only imagine
the emotions raging through her. His own heart, too, was churning at seeing his familiar old hometown.
Loth to betray her feelings, Lucy was deeply moved at seeing all the familiar haunts. Greedy to keep and hold it forever, she took in everything; the church on the corner, the avenue of shops, the street-lamps, and even the kerbs and pavements worn down over the years by the feet of many, including
Barney’s and her own.
‘You’re wrong, Adam,’ she answered quietly. ‘It
has
changed. There was a time when I thought Liverpool would always belong to me. When I last walked down these streets, they were comforting and friendly, because Barney was still alive. If I was out shopping, he was always at the back of my mind, and I knew that when I got home he would be there, waiting for me – that warm,
wonderful man.’
Yes, Liverpool was still here, she thought, and yes, it
looked
the same – the proud old buildings, the old cobbler’s on the corner, and the tearooms where she and Vicky often took a rest from the shopping.