Walking Back to Happiness. Anne Bennett

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      Arthur still didn’t mention the priest. He had the feeling it wouldn’t help his case. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘When you’d gone, I thought about what you said. I was wrong and I’m sorry, truly sorry, and sorry too if I upset you.’

      In spite of herself, Hannah was impressed. It took courage for a person to admit they were wrong about something and ask for another’s forgiveness.

      ‘Please, take back the ring?’ Arthur said, holding it out to Hannah.

      But she had to be certain. ‘And Josie?’ she said. ‘How do you feel about her now?’

      Arthur was a truthful man. Eventually he replied, ‘You must be patient with me. I know nothing about children, I’ve never had dealings with any.’

      ‘I don’t expect you to be a natural father,’ Hannah said. ‘I expect you to be welcoming, to be kind to her.’

      ‘I’ll do my best, I can’t say fairer than that.’

      ‘No,’ said Hannah, slipping the engagement ring back on her finger ‘No, you can’t.’ But though she spoke the conciliatory words, Arthur’s earlier attitude had shaken her. Despite her longing for a child, she knew if she hadn’t got Josie’s welfare to consider, she’d have probably called it a day with Arthur Bradley there and then and to hell with his fine house and steady job.

Chapter Three

      Arthur and Hannah were married the second Saturday in September and everyone said it went off a treat. Gloria sat in the pew watching Hannah walk down the aisle on the arm of Tom Parry, the husband of her best friend and neighbour Amy, and thought it hard she had no one belonging to her but Josie at her wedding.

      Why couldn’t the two off to America have delayed their departure until after the wedding? Or the one she said was living with the grandparents, or the one that wasn’t long married come over for a few days? Then she had to walk down the aisle on the arm of a comparative stranger when her own father was apparently alive and well. And it wasn’t that he hadn’t been asked. Hannah had written and asked him did he want to come and would he like to give her away, but his refusal had been brief to the point of rudeness.

      It had been the same with her brothers and sisters. They were all in America except the one and he said it was a bad time to leave the farm, claimed he was up to his neck in the harvest and had a couple of cows ready to calve.

      ‘It’s a crying shame, that’s what,’ Gloria said angrily to Josie.

      ‘Sure, she hardly knows them anyway,’ Josie said. ‘It’s my family she grew up with.’

      But deep down, she knew it had hurt Hannah. She’d heard her muffled crying in the attic room they shared when she thought Josie was asleep. She hadn’t comforted her then, though she wanted to, because she had the feeling Hannah wouldn’t want her to know. In the same way she wouldn’t tell Mrs Emmerson she’d been upset, because she thought she’d be letting her down in some way.

      In the time they’d been living together at the guesthouse, Josie had drawn even closer to Hannah. She knew she’d taken her in because she’d been almost forced to, but she’d never shown her that. She’d always been kind and considerate. In those first early weeks, sometimes Josie had been so homesick, she could neither eat nor sleep. It had been Hannah then who wrapped her arms around her and promised things would get better, or sat by her bed, often for hours, stroking her forehead to relax her enough to drift into sleep.

      Josie knew she’d never forget that. She wished, though, she wasn’t marrying Arthur Bradley. Not that he bothered about her much, he mainly ignored her, and as the youngest in a large and busy family, she was used to being ignored, especially by men. Her father and her brothers were always either too busy to bother about her or off on business of their own and would hardly give her the time of day.

      No, it wasn’t the way Arthur was with her that bothered Josie about the marriage, it was the man himself. Hannah was beautiful, truly beautiful, but much of her beauty came from the light that danced in her eyes that lit up her whole face. She’d seen heads turn when she’d gone into a room. Every guest who came in had been almost mesmerised by her and she’d even seen people turn to look at her at Mass.

      And yet she’d bothered about none of them and certainly didn’t encourage attention. In fact, there was a certain something Hannah had, a certain aloofness with men, that put them off slightly, though she was always polite. She’d wanted to ask her about it, but could never seem to find the right words, or the right time to say them. Still, Josie had the feeling that with the slightest encouragement, the men would be falling at her feet.

      She knew all about the soldier Hannah had been engaged to who died on the beach in Normandy around D-Day. She’d heard it from Mrs Emmerson and it had been the first time she’d known it, for in the letters Hannah had written to her mother, she’d not mentioned a word of it. ‘I think he took part of her heart with him and that’s the truth,’ Gloria said. ‘That’s why she wants no other.’

      So why then did she pin the rest of it on Arthur Bradley? Josie thought. ‘She doesn’t love him,’ she’d cried in protest to Gloria. ‘She can’t love him.’

      ‘What’s love, pet?’ Gloria asked sadly. ‘I didn’t love my husband, but we got along all right. No children, and that was a blow to take, but it meant we were able to work hard. He had a shop then and it did all right. But when he dropped dead of a heart attack when we’d been married just ten years, I sold the shop, lock, stock and barrel and bought this place.

      ‘I could have married a man I loved and one that loved me,’ she went on. ‘And there was one. But with him, I’d probably be living in some back-to-back slum with a squad of children and not a half-penny to bless myself with. I did what I had to do for me and Hannah’s doing the same.’

      ‘What happened to the other man – the one you loved?’ Josie asked, intrigued by Gloria’s revelations.

      ‘He went to America,’ Gloria said with a shrug, and a flush of shame coloured her face for a split second as she went on. ‘Told me I’d broke his heart. Stuff and nonsense, of course. Don’t you worry none about Hannah. She wants a home of her own and someone to care for her.’

      But did he care for her? Privately, Josie doubted it. They didn’t match somehow either. It was like a snail getting married to a butterfly.

      Still, a wedding was a wedding. And something to write to Eileen Donnelly about. She’d been her friend at school in Wicklow. When she’d been so homesick, Hannah had advised her to write to someone and tell her how she felt. She said it might help.

      And it did. Josie wrote reams and reams, covering page after page with how depressing the place was, the noise, the traffic, the squashed-up houses, the stinking factories that tipped their filth and waste into the sluggish brown canal. She told her of the greyness, the drabness, the absence of green meadows and mountains and streams, and she begged for news from home.

      When Eileen’s reply had arrived, Josie had been so disappointed that she’d cried. Eileen said everything was just the same and her mother was having another baby.

      There was so much Josie longed to know. So her next letter was full of questions which Eileen answered, but briefly and СКАЧАТЬ