Josephine Cox - Songbird

“Sounds lovely.” Maddy had visions of sunshine and romance.

“It was the most beautiful day,” he went on. “We rowed right up the Great Ouse, then we pulled in, put up the oars and had a picnic on the grass bank.”

“Did you marry her?” Maddy was enthralled.

“I did,” he said dreamily. “She said yes, and before she could change her mind, I had her down the aisle and wed.”

“So, no regrets then?” Maddy recalled her own dreams of walking down the aisle, dressed in white and giving her vows to the man who loved her. The reality had been so very different and now she feared her dreams might never come true.

“No regrets,” he answered. “She was the best thing that ever happened to me. Over the next fourteen years, we had two sons and three daughters.” The smile slipped away. “Sadly, my wife gave her last breath to my youngest daughter. It was a terrible blow. I’ve never wanted any woman since then. No one could ever come close to her. But I’ve got my family, and that’s all I need.”

Realizing that she had awakened painful memories, Maddy changed the subject. “Do you think I’ll be happy in Bedford?”

“Don’t see why not,” he answered crisply. “It’s got everything you’d ever want in a town – shops to lose yourself in, colleges and libraries for sharpening your brain, oh, and that amazing river with its walks and parks.” And because she had intrigued him, he wanted to know, “Are you moving to Bedford for good, or just visiting?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she answered cagily. “It all depends on whether I can find work and lodgings.”

“If you want work, there are plenty of people who would take on a presentable girl like you. As for lodgings…”

Just then, the traffic lights changed and he drew the coach to a halt. “Good Lord!” Glancing down at his diesel tank, he gasped with horror, “I’m on reserve. I’ll need to take a detour and collect some fuel, or we’ll end up pushing the damned thing.” Glancing at Maddy in the mirror, he informed her worriedly, “I’m sorry, but it’ll make us fifteen or twenty minutes late, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right,” she assured him. “I’m in no hurry.”

It being too difficult to turn the coach around at the junction, the driver signaled left and followed the country lane. “Nearest garage is a matter of ten minutes or so through the back lanes, but it’s a bit bumpy, so it might be best if you return to your seat.”

Obeying him, Maddy sat back and enjoyed the beauty of the countryside. They passed two olde worlde pubs, and any number of quaint thatched cottages, and she remarked on how pretty it all was.

“We’ll be going through the woods any minute now,” the driver said. “You’ll see a smattering of villages when we get out the other side. There’s Woburn, owned by the Duke of Bedford, then there’s Little Brickhill and Great Brickhill, and after that it’s only a mile or so to the garage. Once we’re back on the main road, it’s a spit and a throw, and we’ll be in Bedford town.”

True to his word, he arrived at the garage in no time. “Do they sell newspapers?” Maddy had become paranoid about reading the papers, in search of news that might involve Steve Drayton. She was terrified that he might escape from Brixton Prison and come after her.

“They might,” he offered. “Would you like me to fetch you one? It’s the least I can do for nearly getting you stranded.”

Maddy graciously declined and followed him inside, and there on the counter was a small pile of Daily Telegraphs .

There was just one customer at the counter – a tall, good-looking man with wayward dark hair, wearing a long, somewhat grubby oilskin. Maddy calculated him to be in his mid-thirties.

“That’ll be eight pounds, please, Brad,” said the bespectacled man behind the counter.

The man called Brad fished out eight pounds and handed it over. “So, have you had any luck with my notice?” he asked.

“Nope!” Spectacles Man made a grimace. “Seems to me how folks have lost the will to work. Either that, or there’s too much work to go round and they’re spoiled for choice. Would you like me to leave the notice in for another week?”

Brad looked disappointed. “I’m surprised. I thought I might at least get one candidate,” he groaned.

“Well, I’m not surprised. Like I told you, I don’t normally put notices up, but being as you’re a long-time friend, I made an exception. Folks who call in here don’t come looking for work, they come for fuel. It was a long shot, and I had hoped it might be of some use to you, but it looks like you’ll have to take out an ad in the local paper. Meantime, we can leave the notice there! You never know, there might be that one person who sees it and takes an interest.”

“Okay, we’ll leave it for another week,” Brad decided, “and thanks for your help. I really do appreciate it.”

He lowered his voice to an intimate level. “Since Tom and Joan moved to the coast, I’m absolutely desperate. I’ve got my hands full with the farming, there’s a new barn going up and pipes being laid right down to the spinney… the top fields flooded twice last year, and ruined the seedlings. And on top of that, I’ve had one man off sick for a week, and my desk is piled high to the rafters with urgent letters and bills.”

He heaved a sigh. “Sometimes you wonder if it’s all worth it. Without Joan to keep on top of it, the house looks like a tip. So, yes, we’ll do what you said… we’ll leave the notice for another week. Meantime, I’ll contact the Bedfordshire Times and organize an advert.”

“It’s worth a try. Trouble is, you never know what kind of person you’re getting. It’s always best if you can recruit locally. That way, there’s a chance you’ll already know their background.”

“Right. Well, thanks anyway. So, we’ll leave it a week, and see how we go.” He was about to turn away when he suddenly remembered, “Oh! I forgot – I need to fill my can. They’re late delivering my diesel, and I’m getting low. I daren’t risk running out altogether.” Sorting through his loose change, he paid the extra amount.

As he turned away, he almost bumped into Maddy. “Whoops!” he said with a sincere smile, before addressing the coach driver, to apologize for the wait.

Moving forward to the counter, the coach driver acknowledged his apology with a nod of the head. He paid for his fuel, and treated Maddy to her newspaper, which he promptly handed to her. “You might as well go and find the cloakroom,” he suggested, “while I finish up here.”

Stopping to look at the magazines on display near the door, Maddy overheard snatches of conversation between the driver and the man behind the counter. “There goes a worried man,” the latter stated. “As decent a bloke as you’ll ever meet.”

Taking the driver’s money, he chatted on, “…Name’s Brad. He’s a vet who also runs Brighill Farm, a couple of miles down the lane. Got a young son. His wife was killed in a road acident, couple of years ago. God knows how he’s coping with everything he’s got on his plate.”

“Oh, I know what that’s like. Sounds like your man’s got his troubles and no mistake,” the driver said kindly.

“You’re right there – and now he’s left with a little lad to care for. Life’s a bitch as they say, and it’s given him a few kicks, poor devil. It’s been one bad thing after another. A hardworking, decent bloke like Brad? There’s no way he deserves that.”

At this, Maddy left and hurried across the forecourt to where Brad was filling up the can. “I’m really sorry I delayed you in there,” he said. His smile was open and honest. “I had a bit of business to sort out, and I didn’t realize there was anyone waiting behind me.” He paused, then said a little desperately, “I don’t suppose you know anyone who’s looking for work and lodgings, do you?”