Josephine Cox - Songbird

“Aye, lass, I understand all that. But even then it won’t be easy. What if her aunt takes a wrong turn and they send for Maddy in the middle of the night? She’ll have to wake the child and take him with her. On the other hand, if the old dear insists on coming home, Maddy will have her hands full taking care of them both.”

He tried to see it from Maddy’s point of view. “Yes, the pair of you did right in keeping the lad here with us. What’s more, I don’t think Maddy should come back for him, until her aunt is mending and settled. So, in my opinion, the sensible thing is for her to concentrate on the situation in hand, and let us get on with our bit at this end.”

“That’s exactly what we thought,” Ellen said, relieved. “And we mustn’t forget that little Michael has only recently stopped his regular checkups. He’s still a bit wobbly after that bad start he had.”

“That settles it then.” His face beaming with a smile, Bob informed Ellen, “When the lass calls, make sure you tell her that everything’s all right and she’s not to worry. The three of us will still be here, fine and dandy, when she gets back.”

“I will – and thank you, Grandad.”

Crossing the room, Ellen threw her arms round him. “I knew we could count on you.” She had a nagging thought. “What if the neighbors start asking where Maddy is? Especially Nosy Nora from next door. Lately, she’s taken to drooling over little Michael every time Maddy takes him out.”

“We’ve got nowt to hide!” he retorted. “So you just tell that interfering old biddy how it is! Knowing her, she’ll have it round the street in no time, and if everybody knows the truth, there’ll be no need for anybody to make up stories, will there?” He gave her a wink, then tapped the side of his nose in a conspiratorial fashion. “Keep the enemy close. That’s the way to win a war.”

“Shame on you, Grandad,” she chided. “You’re a canny old devil, that’s what you are.”

“It’s old age,” he grinned. “You haven’t got the strength to run, so you learn how to duck and dive.”

The sound of Michael crying for his breakfast, sent Ellen running up to fetch him.

“Give him to me while you get his bottle ready.” Grandad tickled the baby under the chin. “See here now, little fella, yer mammy’s gone away to look after your great-aunt.” He lowered his voice. “Poor old thing, all alone like that. It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t throw herself down the stairs to get a bit of attention…”

“Grandad!” Ellen wagged a finger. “That’s not a very nice thing to say, is it?”

“Aye well, it were only a passing comment.” He paused, his voice falling to a whisper. “Mind you, there’s many a poor neglected soul who must think of it from time to time, especially when there’s no one to care if they live or die.”

Sensing a sadness about him, Ellen went to hug him. “Grandad?”

“Yes, lass?” The smile was back, and suddenly he was his chirpy old self again.

“What you just said…” The girl had to ask. “Did you ever feel like that? Lonely enough to throw yourself downstairs?”

“Wherever did you get an idea like that!” He looked shocked, then burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t dare throw myself down the stairs. The weight of me bumping from step to step would bring the house down!”

In spite of herself, Ellen had to laugh.

As she walked back to the cooker, she turned to see him gently blowing bubbles into Michael’s neck, the two of them chuckling, and felt a surge of sadness. She could not help but think about the way he had looked, when he talked about lonely old folks, and it struck her how hard it must have been for him, when she had stayed away all that time.

Loving him more than ever, she watched them a moment longer. “Your mammy will miss you like thunder,” he was telling the child, “but you’re not to worry, ’cause she’ll be back afore you can whistle dixie. Meanwhile, you’ve got me and our Ellen to contend with, yer poor little devil.” He sang a lullaby and afterward brought the child to Ellen, who had his bottle warm and ready. “He’s all yours,” he said, and went away whistling, leaving Ellen both relieved and guilty that he had taken her made-up story at face value.

“Come on, little one.” She cuddled the child onto her lap and put the teat near his mouth. He immediately lunged for it hungrily. By the look of Michael’s rosy cheeks and fat little legs, he was thriving on the new feeding regime.

An hour later, with his belly full and his nappy changed, Ellen laid him in his pram downstairs, so she could keep an eye on him as she did some chores. “Sleep tight,” she murmured tenderly. “Your mammy’s not here to tuck you in, but you’ll never go short of love, I can promise you that.”

When the rain started pitter-pattering against the window, she looked up at the darkening skies with a sinking heart. “Stay warm and safe, Maddy,” she whispered. “And let me know where you are – as soon as you can.”

One thing was certain.

She would not rest easy until Maddy’s voice was on the other end of that phone.

Maddy felt incrediblylonely.

For six hours and nigh on two hundred miles, she had observed the changing winter landscape as she traveled further away from the home and the people she loved. Whenever the coach stopped to let passengers off, she was tempted to leave it and make her way back, as fast as she could, to Ellen and Michael, and that dear man who looked on her as another granddaughter.

The only thing that stopped her was the reason she had left, and it remained as pressing today as it was yesterday, and would be tomorrow. Steve Drayton’s henchmen were still out there, looking for blood.

She glanced at her watch. Realizing it was Michael’s naptime, she closed her eyes and imagined him tucked up in his cot. She visualized Ellen leaning over him, whispering soft assurances into his ear and keeping an eye on him as he slumbered. Like dear Alice, Ellen had enriched Maddy’s life. And she was immensely grateful for that.

Now as the driver pulled over and the last of the passengers had alighted, Maddy moved up to be nearer to him. “How far to the terminus now?” she inquired.

“It’s half an hour nearer than the last time you asked.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” He glanced back at her. “You seem a bit on edge, love.” Since she ran out of the coach in a panic, he had noticed how she fidgeted and looked about, as though waiting for someone to pounce on her.

Unsettled by his curiosity, Maddy chose not to answer. Instead, she asked, “What’s it like, Bedford?”

“It’s an old market town, set on a river, with bridges and cafés and a grand old market at its heart. There was a time when everyone knew everyone else, but like any other town, the population grows and times change; sometimes for the better, sometimes not.”

“So when did Bedford begin to change?”

“Ah, well now.” He thought back to when he was younger. “I can tell you they had an influx of Italians in the fifties – looking for work in the brickyards, they were. They found work aplenty, so they stayed on and raised their families.” He made a quick calculation. “There must be three if not four generations of Italians now, and as far as I know, they’ve been model citizens. And though they are proud of their Italian heritage, they’ve integrated naturally into the local community.”

“How do you know so much about Bedford?”

“Because that’s where I grew up. My parents had a greengrocer shop, and my brother drives a cab there.” He thought about his rampant youth and the nostalgia was never far away. “I met my first sweetheart there,” he confided, while keeping his eyes on the road. “I spent my last couple of pounds hiring a rowboat to take her up the river, where I proposed.”