Wait For the Dawn (39 page)

A sharp, biting wind sliced through the square as they turned into it, and Lydia pressed Davie’s hand and held it to her skirts. ‘It’ll be good to get in the warm again,’ she said. Up above, the sky was a yellowish grey. There was snow there, she thought. Then at last the shop front was before them, and they hurried towards it, pushed open the door, and went in.

The shop was busy, with Alfred and his assistants dealing with customers, while one or two others waited to be served. Lydia went straight through, getting a smiling nod from Alfred, and took Davie into the room at the back.

‘Now,’ she said to the boy, ‘I’ve got to help out in the shop for a while, for Mr Federo has to go out into the town, and Papa and Miss Angel won’t be able to manage on their own. D’you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s a good boy. You’ll have to stay in here and amuse yourself, can you do that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’ll pop in now and again to see if you’re all right.’

He was already taking his soldier out of its brown paper wrapping, in preparation to having him walk about the stained table top. ‘What does Mr Federo have to go out for?’ he asked.

‘He’s got a toothache, poor man. He’s going to the barber’s to have his tooth pulled.’

Davie frowned. ‘Will that hurt?’

‘Just a little perhaps – but it’s nothing to the pain he’s in with his tooth aching so.’ She stepped to him and bent before him. ‘Now let me take off your coat and cap – otherwise you’ll miss them when you go out.’

The boy stood still as Lydia took off his cap and overcoat and scarf and mittens. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I should think you’ll be warm enough.’ There was a fire burning in the stove and she put out her hand towards it. ‘Here, dear, sit by the stove if you start to get cold.’

‘All right.’

‘That’s my good boy.’ She looked into his face. ‘I should think you might be tired pretty soon, so I think it would be a good idea if you have a little nap, don’t you, until Ellen gets here?’

He said in surprise, ‘I’m not tired,’ as if it were the furthest possibility, but she said, ‘Still, you might become so.’ There was a woollen rug hanging over the back of the sofa, and she took it down and laid it on the cushions. ‘If you get tired will you lie down here, darling?’

‘All right, but I shan’t be tired.’

‘Well, we’ll see.’

As she took off her hat and cape Alfred came in. At once he saw the soldier that Davie was holding. ‘Oh, well, look there,’ he said. ‘That’s something I haven’t seen before. Did you get that today?’

‘Yes, I did,’ Davie said. ‘I got it from Grandpa.’

‘Well, that’s very nice of Grandpa to do that. I hope you thanked him properly, did you?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Well done.’ He turned to Lydia who was just hanging up her cape on the hook beside the door. ‘I’m glad you got here,’ he said. ‘Peter’s ready to go now. Poor man is in such
discomfort. The sooner he gets it done the better. We seem to be very busy this afternoon.’ He turned to Davie. ‘Will you be all right in here for a while, son?’

‘Yes, Pappy.’

‘Good boy.’ He turned and started out and Lydia, after gently touching her son’s head with her hand, followed after him.

Young Mr Federo was serving an elderly man at that moment, but as soon as the transaction was complete he got the nod from Alfred and, thankfully smiling, went through into the back room to get his coat and hat. A minute later he came out wearing them and pulling on his gloves.

‘Right,’ Alfred said to him, ‘you go on, m’boy, and I’ll see you on Monday. I hope you don’t suffer too much.’

The young man thanked him, wished him a good day and a good weekend, and then said the same to Lydia. In moments he was out of the shop and had disappeared from their sight.

The time passed swiftly. It was always the same on a Saturday. As on a Thursday, the general market day, many people came in from out of town to do their shopping, and they were very busy. Frequently, between customers, Lydia went into the back room to see how Davie was getting on. On the second occasion, she found that he had put his soldier aside and was lying sound asleep on the sofa. The rug was only partly over him, and gently she adjusted it so that he was covered. He kept on sleeping.

She stood there looking down at him, taking in the flush on his rounded cheek, the pink curve of his upper lip, the colour of his light blond hair. He was all that she could have wished for. She thought back to the time of his birth. There must have been a certain amount of gossip surrounding the circumstance, she was sure; a baby born eight months after marriage would always be bound to set tongues wagging, but she didn’t care, and neither did Alfred, she knew.

She touched a light kiss to his smooth forehead and moved out of the room again, back into the shop proper, leaving the door ajar, and found that more customers had arrived: a woman with her three young daughters, wanting to see silk fabrics, particular designs of lace, and grosgrain ribbons. Lydia set to work at once to serve them, and with herself busy, as well as Alfred and Miss Angel, the room was filled with conversation. Another half-hour passed with the time fleeting as the assistants dealt with the customers who came in.

Freed momentarily as a customer left the shop with her packages under her arm, Lydia looked up at the clock on the wall. Nearly five. Not long to go now, then Ellen would be there to take Davie home, leaving Lydia to continue working alongside Alfred for another two or three hours. Later she and Alfred would return home, at which time she could see Davie in the nursery, and tuck him in if he was still awake.

Now she stood for a moment in her own silence while the work went on around her, and a little buzz of voices hovered in the air. She looked from one to the other in the room. Miss Angel, a grey-haired maiden lady in her fifties, and Alfred’s longest-serving employee, was serving a customer with a length of blue holland, while Alfred, in spite of his gout, was up on a short ladder, checking some items of stock on the upper shelves. Taking advantage of the momentary quiet, Lydia turned from the counter and went again into the back room where she found Davie sitting up on the sofa, rubbing his eyes.

‘Did you have a good sleep, darling?’

He nodded, still drowsy.

‘You’ll be going home in a little while, then you can have your tea. Ellen will be here for you soon.’

‘Can’t I stay here with you and Pappy?’

‘Now, you know you can’t, darling. You’ll be better off at
home, and you’ve got a big day tomorrow with your party, haven’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you be all right here for a while still? Till Ellen comes?’

‘Can I come out in the shop with you and Pappy? I won’t make a noise or be a nuisance.’

She hesitated, then said, ‘I’m sure you won’t. All right, then. Come out when you’re ready.’

She left him then, and went back into the shop. Alfred, she found, had gone into the stockroom. She turned to the low shelf behind the counter and bent to tidy up some lengths of ribbon that she had earlier been unwrapping. As she did so she heard the sound of the bell over the door, announcing that another customer was coming in. She put the ribbons down, stood up straight, and found herself face to face with Guy.

She stood there looking at him, while the business of the shop went on to her right as Miss Angel and her customer murmured over their business. For all Lydia’s outer stillness her heart was thumping in her chest. A part of her mind protested that it could not be true, that Guy’s presence there must be some strange manifestation of her thought; her father had been speaking of him just a short time ago, that very afternoon, and here Guy was, standing before her, wearing a chesterfield coat with an astrakhan collar, his bowler hat briefly lifted in one hand, his briefcase and a paper-wrapped package in the other. He was standing just feet away from her on the other side of the counter. If she stretched out her hand she could touch him.

They stood in silence facing one another. It had been four years and nine months since they had last met, and she could see the passage of the years in his face. There was a maturity about him; she could detect faint lines about his mouth, about the corners of his eyes and marking his forehead. Little lines of care. Other than that he looked the same.

At last he spoke, frowning a little at the wonder of the unexpected meeting, but his mouth lifting slightly.

‘Well,’ he said, and then, giving a nod, ‘Well,’ again, and then, ‘Good afternoon.’

A moment of silence and ‘Good afternoon,’ Lydia replied. She could hear her voice sounding foolish and overbright in her ears. Then she added, ‘This is a –
surprise.’ She wanted to smile at him, but her mouth would not obey, and she stood with lips compressed, her hands on the counter before her.

Swiftly taking off his gloves, he reached out and took Lydia’s hand in his. As he briefly shook it he murmured her name: ‘Lydia.’ He barely breathed the word. ‘I can hardly believe it. Is it you? Is it really you?’

‘How are you?’ she said, withdrawing her hand. ‘Have you been well?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ The prosaic words came from her lips and she heard them as if spoken by another. She could think of nothing to say. It was as if she were acting in a dream. Over to her right Miss Angel and her customer were talking about an incident at the market.

‘I’ve wondered about you,’ Guy said. ‘How you’ve been getting on.’

‘I – I’ve been very well,’ Lydia said. ‘Very well indeed.’ A pause, then she added, ‘I suppose you’ve been busy . . .’

‘Oh, yes.’ He gave a firm nod. ‘I’m running the newspaper now. For better or worse.’ He paused. ‘My father – I’m afraid he died from his accident, while I was in Italy. He passed away shortly after my arrival there.’

Lydia recalled Mrs Anderson telling her of this when she had been at the house that day. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That must have been a great blow for you.’

‘It was worse for my mother. She missed him terribly at his death. She died too, a year ago.’

‘Oh, dear . . . I’m so sorry.’

‘Thank you.’ He paused, gave an awkward little shrug and added, ‘I just dropped in to buy some handkerchiefs. I came to Merinville on business, and found I’d come out without one.’ He gestured with a nod of his head. ‘I’m just on my way to the railway station.’

‘Handkerchiefs, yes,’ she said. ‘Did you want cotton,
linen or silk?’ How stilted their conversation was, she said to herself. Anyone observing them would think they were nothing more than the merest slight acquaintances.

‘Oh, linen, I think. I only want a couple, if that’s all right.’

‘Yes, of course. Plain, monogrammed or edged?’

‘Plain, thank you.’

She was about to bend to take a box of handkerchiefs from below the counter when she heard her son’s voice calling to her.

‘Mammy?’

Davie was coming from behind her as he emerged from the back room. She turned at his voice and smiled at him.

‘Hello, darling – so you’re properly awake now, are you?’

‘Yes,’ the boy murmured and looked up curiously at Guy on the other side of the counter.

Guy was gazing at the child. ‘This is your son?’ he said.

Lydia put her hand on Davie’s shoulder. ‘Yes, this is my boy.’ There was pride in her voice. ‘This is David. Though we always call him Davie.’

Guy stepped up closer to the counter, leant his tall body over and reached out his hand. ‘How d’you do, Davie?’

Davie flicked a questioning glance at his mother, then at the tall man, then put up his small hand and allowed Guy to take it.

‘That’s it,’ Lydia said, and prompted him: ‘
How do you do?
’

‘How do you do,’ Davie said.

Guy let go of the boy’s hand and straightened, his eyes still on the child. At the other end of the counter Miss Angel’s customer was now looking at some samples of nankeen. The door at the far end opened, and Alfred emerged from the stockroom, carrying a number of boxes. He came along behind the counter, past Miss Angel and her customer, and took in the trio of Lydia, Davie and Guy. As
he approached them, Lydia said to Guy, ‘Here’s my husband now,’ and turned, including Alfred in her smile and saying, ‘My husband, Mr Alfred Canbrook.’ And to Alfred: ‘Alfred – this is Mr Guy Anderson. Mr Anderson is an old friend of mine – from several years back.’

Alfred put the boxes down on the counter and the two men shook hands. Lydia said, aware of the irrelevance of her words, ‘Mr Anderson came in for some handkerchiefs . . .’ As she spoke she took the box of linen handkerchiefs and set it on the counter. ‘You wanted just two?’ she said, and Guy replied, ‘Please – if I may,’ and she took out two and laid them on the counter before him. He nodded his satisfaction, and she was about to wrap them in paper when he added quickly, ‘No, leave them as they are, thank you.’ He paid her with some coppers from his purse, then precisely folded one handkerchief and put it into the breast pocket of his jacket. The other he put into his trousers pocket. Then into the scene came Davie’s voice as he said, ‘Look, it’s snowing.’ Lydia looked out past Guy’s shoulder, and through the door glass saw flakes whirling past.

‘It’s snowing – on my birthday!’ Davie said.

‘It’s your birthday today?’ Guy asked.

‘Yes, I’m four – and tomorrow I’m having a party.’

Alfred stooped and picked Davie up in his arms. ‘Yes, he is,’ he said, ‘and look at him, he’s getting to be the biggest boy.’

‘Oh, Pappy, let me down,’ Davie said, and Alfred, chuckling, set him back upon his feet. ‘You don’t like to be treated like a baby, do you?’

Davie said, wide-eyed, ‘Well, I’m not.’

‘No, of course you’re not.’ Alfred ruffled the boy’s hair, then moved his hand to tap the top box of the small stack he had set down. ‘These are the men’s stockings that have just come in,’ he said. ‘I’ve checked them; they’re all fine. I’m putting them up here.’

He stacked the boxes onto a shelf at the back, then turned to Guy and gave a little nod and a smile and said, ‘It’s very nice to meet you, Mr Anderson. If you’ll excuse me . . .’ The two men wished one another a good afternoon, and Alfred went back towards the stockroom door. Lydia watched him go, then turned back to Guy. As she did so, Davie piped up again.