A Glimpse at Happiness (10 page)
Josie’s heart jumped over in her chest. With her mouth dry as tinder she opened the door to the Nolans’ kitchen, and cast her eyes around the low-ceilinged scullery. In their old house the whole family had lived downstairs, with another family in the upstairs room but, for all that, Josie realised just how small these old terraced cottages really were.
Mattie turned. She had Patrick’s well-defined cheekbones but a small chin rather than a square one. Her dark curls were gathered under the cotton handkerchief tied at the back of her head.
‘Josie!’ Mattie dashed at her and enveloped her in a tight embrace.
Keeping her eyes from straying to the black mould around the window frames and the mousetrap in the corner, Josie returned her old school friend’s hug.
‘What am I about, grabbing you like that!’ Mattie said, giving Josie a shy smile and wiping her hands down her apron a couple of times. ‘You dressed in silks and me in this old thing covered with burnt sugar from the factory.’
Josie embraced her again. ‘Oh Mattie,’ she said, her voice muffled by her friend’s shoulder. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘There, didn’t I say that our Josie would never be too full of airs and graces to take a dish of tea with her old friends,’ Sarah told her daughter, and Mattie’s shoulders relaxed.
Josie struggled out of Mattie’s embrace. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’ she asked.
Mattie took her hands and drew her into the room. ‘Patrick said you were grand.’
The smile froze on Josie’s face. Grand! Is that what he thought? A little stab of hurt jabbed at her breastbone.
‘Come and sit by the fire,’ Sarah urged.
She sat down opposite the fire and noticed that the horsehair stuffing was bursting out from the fabric on the arm of the old chair. She thought of the new furniture she and her mother had bought at Heals, the huge department store in Tottenham Court Road . . . Josie banished the thought as she untied her bonnet and peeled off her gloves before settling herself back. Sarah sat opposite her and Mattie pulled up a stool. The faint scent of vinegar told Josie that Sarah hadn’t give up her daily scrubbing of the floors.
A square table, with an odd assortment of upright chairs ranged around it, dominated the centre of the room. The yellowing linen cloth covering it served as the backdrop for a colourful assortment of cups and saucers. There was a full bucket of coal by the fireside.
‘I’m very sorry to hear that Mr Nolan passed on,’ Josie said.
‘Ah, thank you, my dear. He was a darlin’ man.’ Sarah fixed a bright smile on her face. ‘Now, tell me how your own dear mother is.’
Sarah handed Josie a cup of tea. Josie took a sip. It was weak, and she was just about to say as much when she realised that, of course, Sarah must have used second-hand tea leaves.
She smiled at Sarah. ‘Lovely,’ she said, and then told them all about her family and their time in New York and Boston.
Mattie and Sarah’s eyes grew wide as she described their house in Brooklyn Heights just across the river from the city and her Uncle Jo’s chaotic family, which they had left behind.
‘It must be strange being back here,’ Mattie said.
Josie nodded. ‘It is, although there has been so much to do since we returned I’ve only just noticed it now and again.’
She glanced at the bare windows and thought of the lace panels hanging in the windows of the drawing room in the house at Stepney Green.
‘Patrick tells me you’re to be married,’ Josie said, abandoning thoughts of West End shopping and her own life. ‘Has he got a name, this young man of yours?’
‘He’s Brian Maguire.’ Mattie beamed. ‘You must remember him. He and Pat were always together.’
‘And getting up to mischief, if I recall,’ Josie replied, thinking of the lad universally known as ‘Ginger’ who had been Patrick’s shadow.
Mattie grinned. ‘You have that right, although he’s filled out a bit and he’s a—’
‘Lovely Irish fella, that he is,’ Sarah butted in. She glanced up at an old clay pipe on the mantelshelf. ‘There’s no man on earth who can make a woman smile like a lad with green eyes.’
The image of Patrick flashed into Josie’s mind. She pushed it aside, for if that lad thought she was too grand to visit an old friend then she certainly wouldn’t be smiling at
his
green eyes.
his
green eyes.
Mattie’s face was alight. ‘Brian owns a coal yard up at the end of Cable Street and after we’re wed I’ll be moving in to the house attached.’
‘I’d love to meet him,’ Josie said, caught up in her friend’s excitement.
‘We are going to the Thames Tunnel next Sunday. Why don’t you come with us?’
‘I will, as long as you don’t mind me being a gooseberry,’ Josie replied, thinking it would be an exciting excursion as well as a way of getting herself out of Mrs Munroe’s sights for an afternoon.
‘And Josie, will you come and help me make my dress? You were always good with a needle.’ Mattie was brimming over with excitement. ‘I paid fourpence a yard for the fabric. It’s pink with a thin brown stripe. I thought at a distance it would look like one of those new fashionable, pale wedding dresses.’
Josie stared into her friend’s eager face and remembered that she’d just paid Mr Turner, the merchant from Gracechurch Street, sixpence a yard for fabric for Daisy’s new dress.
‘Of course I will. I’m sure you’ll be the loveliest of brides,’ Josie said.
She sat back and cradled her teacup. It was comforting being in the Nolans’ kitchen. The simple warmth of it took her back to her childhood when she had lived in such a house, but somehow the memories of her old home didn’t feature the cracked windowpanes letting light into such a small room or the bare earth floor under her feet. She did remember, though, that her mother had to fetch the water from the pump at the end of the street, as the Nolans must do, and realised that Mattie and her family would have to boil kettles to fill the tin bath she could just about see hanging on the wall outside.
Who knows? If her mother hadn’t married Dr Munroe then maybe she would have married Patrick and been living in a house just like this.
Her mind conjured up an image of Patrick with his sleeves rolled up and his shirt open at the neck and a little bubble of excitement rolled through her. Well, even if she had set up home with him in a cottage like this, cracked windows and all, there would have been some compensation.
‘Look, she’s away with the fairies,’ Mattie’s voice said, cutting through her distracting thoughts.
The door from the passageway opened and a little girl of about five or six came in. She wore the same dark serge dress and wraparound apron that Josie and Mattie used to wear for school. Her lace up brown boots looked almost too heavy for her slender ankles.
An expression of alarm shot across Sarah and Mattie’s faces as the child skipped over to Sarah, and jumped on her lap.
Josie gave her a friendly smile and the child smiled back. Although her skin was darker than the rest of the Nolans and her black hair straight rather that curly, Josie could see the family resemblance.
‘And who’s this?’ she asked, leaning forward and extending the smile
‘This is my darling Annie,’ Sarah replied in an odd voice. ‘I thought you were playing with Meg Bonney,’ she said to the child.
Annie shrugged. ‘I was, but we got in Aunt Colly’s way so I thought I’d come home.’
Josie was momentarily surprised to find that Sarah had had another child so late in life, but then her own mother was only a few years younger and about to have her seventh.
‘My mother used to tie up my hair just like yours, Annie,’ she said, indicating the two long, tightly braided plaits hanging over the child’s shoulder.
Annie picked up a small square of linen. Josie recognised it as a sampler of the sort her gran had set her to stitching at about the same age. The child pulled out a needle and the thread snagged. She was really a pretty child with a quiet dignity about her. Her eyes were darker than the rest of the family but set over strong cheekbones. With Mrs Munroe monopolising her brothers and sisters, Josie missed the afternoons in the parlour when she helped Bobby and Lottie with their samplers.
‘Let me have a look,’ Josie said, reaching out to the young girl.
Annie climbed off Sarah’s knee and came over to Josie.
‘It’s very kind of you, Miss,’ Annie said, handing Josie the mangled square of linen.
Josie began unpicking the knotted cotton and, after a couple of jabs of the needle, the thread was free again. Looking over Annie’s head, Josie smiled across at Mattie and her mother, both stared back at her with an expression that could only be described as alarm.
What on earth is wrong with them?
she thought.
she thought.
Maybe it had been a mistake to visit. Although she had been overjoyed to see Patrick alive, maybe their lives were too different now and she should go.
It was clear that Patrick hadn’t come back to her because he’d written off their youthful dalliance. Now she was forcing herself on his family when he probably didn’t want the awkwardness of having to see her again. He said he would be here when she called and, although she’d been here almost an hour, he’d still not arrived.
She returned Annie’s untangled sampler. ‘There you are. You had just double-stitched it, that’s all.’
‘Thank you, Miss,’ she said taking her work back.
‘I really have to go,’ Josie said.
A look of relief swept over Mattie and Sarah’s faces, and sadness rose up again inside Josie. The front door opened and Mattie and Sarah’s eyes shot to the closed passageway door.
The sound of the blood rushing through Josie’s ears and the thumping of her heart all but drowned out the heavy boots marching down the hall towards them.
The door opened and Patrick stepped in to the room with a young boy of about four just behind him. His gaze flickered down to the child standing at Josie’s side then back to her. An emotion that she couldn’t interpret crossed his face as he stood gazing at her for a timeless moment.
‘Josie?’
Annie dashed at Patrick. ‘Pa, Pa!’ she shouted.
Josie felt breathless and light-headed. Without his gaze leaving her face, he lifted the child into his arms and kissed her on the head.
‘Pa, Miss Josie’s helped me with my sewing.’
Josie rose to her feet. ‘You’re married!’
‘I meant to be here when you arrived to explain. I didn’t want you to find out like this,’ Patrick said, cursing himself inwardly for the wounded look in her eyes.
‘Then why didn’t you tell me when we met?’
‘We were in the middle of Wapping High Street,’ he replied.
‘I cut my day short to be here when you arrived so I could explain everything but I was delayed.’
Josie gave him a brittle smile. ‘Don’t fret yourself, Patrick. I understand completely. You certainly don’t have to explain anything to me.’ She fiddled with her skirt and then peered over his shoulder. ‘I can’t wait to meet your dear wife.’
‘Me mam’s dead,’ Annie told Josie in a matter of fact tone. ‘She died after Mickey was born.’
Josie’s tight expression instantly softened and she made amends by reaching and repositioning a stray lock of Annie’s hair.
‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart,’ she said, then turned to Mickey. ‘How old are you?’
‘Almost four, Miss,’ Mickey answered, gazing up at Josie as if she were a queen.
She tousled his hair lightly. ‘You have grand, curly hair just like your father, Mickey.’ She glanced up at Patrick. ‘You have lovely children. I am truly sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, noticing that the cream stripes of her gown not only drew attention to the auburn tones of her hair but also to the slender circumference of her waist.
‘What was your wife’s name?’ Josie asked. The tightness around her eyes had returned but her smile was warmer.
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