Biddy lowered her voice, too. ‘It’s in my pillow, amongst all the feathers, with my rag doll standing guard,’ she whispered. ‘I looked at it against the candle – oh Dai, I shouldn’t let you give it to me, it must be immensely valuable! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever touched.’
‘Then take care of it for me, cariad. And now go back to the kitchen; we don’t want anyone becoming suspicious.’
On Boxing Night Dai lay in his bed and thought about Biddy, in her little attic room above him. They had known each other a little over two days, and yet he knew himself totally in love, thinking of no one else, dreaming of her, longing for her.
Christmas Day had been wonderful, even to the awful, cold walk to the park, the talk and cuddling in the cold little hut, with Biddy keeping an anxious eye out for invading spiders at first and so unable to give him her full attention – until he took her mind off spiders completely, that was, when she responded to his kisses and hugs in a most satisfying manner. And because they had found each other they had even enjoyed the walk home, both soaked to the skin, Biddy’s teeth chattering like castanets, stopping now and then to hug, then running, then slowing to a walk … laughing at each other, hugging again, almost enjoying the discomfort of damp clothes and icy extremities, because whatever they suffered they suffered together.
And afterwards they had all gathered in the big living-room and played charades and silly word games; Biddy as well. In charades, he, Elizabeth and Biddy had taken on the Gallaghers and the Prescotts and had beaten them in three games out of five. It had been great fun and, because of Biddy’s presence, exciting.
Then came Boxing Day. The Gallaghers, armed with a quantity of envelopes and some very large cardboard boxes, had gone off in their motor car to deliver things. The Prescotts had taken the little boys off to visit friends. Which left Elizabeth, Biddy and Dai himself.
They got the sledge out of the loft above the garage and took it up to Everton Heights, found themselves a nice steep hill and spent most of the afternoon tipping it over,
rescuing each other, laughing and pelting each other with snowballs.
They made a snowman, lent him Biddy’s scarf, much to her indignation, then moved on … and had to come racing back over the snow to rescue the scarf before it was taken by a passer-by.
In the evening they had all piled into the motor car, Biddy as well, and Stuart drove them into Liverpool, to the Playhouse Theatre on Williamson Square, to see
The Story of Puss and his Amazing Boots
. Dai managed to get himself seated with Biddy on one side of him and Elizabeth on the other and though the two girls exclaimed and talked across him, he managed to hold Biddy’s hand most of the evening and no one the wiser.
There were ices in the interval, and coffee or tall glasses of lemonade to drink. Dai would have liked a beer – Joey Prescott went out and got himself one – but he followed Stuart’s lead and stuck to coffee. The pantomime was a good one, with two transformation scenes and a trapeze artist who might have seemed a little out of place in the Giant’s palace to some people, but whose daring antics between the Giant’s kitchen dresser and the hook on the back of his door seemed wonderful indeed to Biddy.
It was Biddy’s first theatre trip and her wide-eyed wonder and tremulous enjoyment made the evening special for Dai. She sat with him on one side and the twins on the other and the three of them accepted everything which took place on stage as entirely natural. Together they marvelled over the magician who came on whilst the scenery was changed and drew rabbits from hats, miles of silk scarves from his own mouth, and sawed a beautiful lady in half, afterwards producing her all in one piece just to show you. Biddy bounced in her seat like a child of five, cheered Puss in Boots, booed the Giant, clapped the lady who came on and sang two beautiful songs and shouted ‘Look behind you!’ whenever cajoled by the cast to do so.
‘Biddy made the performance special for all of us, especially the twins,’ Stuart was heard to remark to Joey Prescott. ‘She simply lost all her inhibitions and behaved like the child she is. And of course the twins – and even Elizabeth to an extent – followed her lead and enjoyed themselves twice as much as they would otherwise have done.’
Dai had managed to get one small kiss as they milled around outside the theatre, waiting for the car to pick them up. Just a little one, but all the sweeter for that. And now here he was, lying wakeful in his bed because tomorrow he would have to go round to the O’Reillys and talk to Greasy about the journey back to Grimsby. And on the floor above, his darling Biddy would be lying in her bed, no doubt soundly sleeping.
If I were to steal softly out of my room this minute, closing the door very gently behind me, if I were to climb the attic stairs very, very carefully, if I were to open her door, inch by inch, fraction by fraction, without so much as one tiny creak … I would see her, lying there in the cold moonlight, Dai told himself.
Her curls would be tumbled about her face and her long lashes would lie on her cheeks, and beneath the blankets the slim, strong body which he so loved to touch would be relaxed in sleep. And if I sat down on her bed and woke her with a kiss and then climbed into bed with her and cuddled down, put my arms round her … she would welcome me with a swiftly beating heart, a shy glance … but she would most definitely welcome me, Dai told himself.
But he would not do it, would not dream of it, just because she was such a sweet and trusting creature, his little Biddy O’Shaughnessy. She was too young for marriage, he should never have mentioned it to her, it was not fair because he was the only man she knew, the only man who had ever paid her the slightest attention. She should be allowed a year in which to get to know other men so that when she did make up her mind on marriage it would not be the leap in the dark which it would be if she made up her mind now.
However. She said she loved him and he loved her, so why shouldn’t they plan to marry, plan happiness? Perhaps in six months he could mention the matter to Nellie as he would have mentioned it to his mother had she been alive – with a sort of shy pride, so that she would ask the right questions, become fond of Biddy, rejoice with him at his good fortune.
I’ll do everything right, Dai vowed to himself, watching the moon mount the sky through a gap in his bedroom curtains. I’ll mention it to Nellie, casual-like, before I go; I won’t say anything’s definite, I won’t even say I’ve talked about it to Biddy, I’ll just sort of hint that we’re fond.
And on my next leave I’ll have to go home to Moelfre and sort my Da out, he reminded himself. Got to do that I have, before I know what I’ve got to offer Biddy … not that she cares a fig, I’m sure. But I’ll explain to her that it must be done, and I’ll go home, talk to Davy. Who knows, maybe I’ll take to Menna when I see her with an apron round her waist and a wooden spoon in her hand, maybe, if she’s taking good care of my Da …
It would go against the grain to return to the island and not to see his darling, though. But it would be for everyone’s good in the long run, he reminded himself sternly. Besides, what was one little shore-leave? Not much, compared to a lifetime’s happiness. And on that thought he turned his head into his pillow and slept soundly till morning.
Dai was not the only person to lie awake in the Gallagher house that night. In her large double bed the lady of the house drank her cocoa, kissed her husband, settled down … and lay awake.
She had enjoyed Christmas even more than usual and that was because of Biddy. Such a good little girl, such a help … a treasure, no less. And Elizabeth was really fond of her, sang her praises, talked about her … but she talked about Dai, too.
Wouldn’t it be lovely if I could tell Elizabeth that he’s her brother, Nellie thought. She would be so thrilled, she’s always longed for a brother or sister, that’s why she’s so good with the twins, so eager for Biddy’s companionship. But it’s impossible, I couldn’t hurt my dear Stuart so.
And matters were complicated enough as it was. Lilac
had guessed. She had been a small girl of nine when Nellie had run away to Anglesey to have the baby, but even then she had been shrewd enough. Nellie had kept it from her for a good while but when she judged the moment was right she told Lilac about the baby she had been forced to leave behind.
She had never said where, or with whom, but Lilac had known Davy for a couple of years and father and son were so alike! Well, maybe not very alike now – Nellie had not seen Davy for more than twenty years – but the young man Davy had been then and the young man Dai now was were almost interchangeable. It was just the expression that was different; you only had to look at Dai to know he was a giver whereas Davy, with the best will in the world, had always been a taker.
Stuart had never met Davy, had no idea what the other man looked like, had never connected Nellie’s friend Bethan with his wife’s first lover. Unless someone said something – and it could not be Dai, who did not know his true parentage, and certainly would not be Nellie – Stuart need never know. He would take her fondness and friendship for the boy entirely at its face value and indeed, Nellie told herself, even had Dai not been her little boy grown to a man, she would have loved him for himself.
So Lilac was the only person who might inadvertently give her away, and Lilac never would. She loved and respected Stuart and she would never knowingly harm either of us, Nellie thought now, staring at the lighter patch at the end of her bed. So what are you lying here worrying over, for goodness sake? Just be thankful he’s turned out so well, that he got in touch with you, that he’s a son to be proud of, and forget that he ever lay in your arms and smiled up at you and tugged your hair. Love him as Bethan’s dear son and you won’t go far wrong.
She turned on her side and was soon on the edge of slumber, but even then a cautious little voice at the very back of her mind was warning her that there was something she had not thought of, had not allowed for, something that could still ruin everything. For a moment longer she lay there, trying to rationalise what must be a foolish, needless fear. But then sheer weariness overcame her and she slept at last.
Snow in August is nothing new; not in the Arctic, anyway. Dai battled his way across the deck, head tortoised deep into the collar of his coat, sou’wester pulled right down over his eyes so he could only see a small section of the deck beneath his feet.
Damned snow! They were seven days out of port and knew they were approaching the fishing grounds, but though they’d taken soundings earlier in the day they had not reached bottom yet. And when they did the Skipper would have to examine the mud or sand or whatever the lead brought up to see whether he thought they’d reached the feeding grounds, because you didn’t shoot the trawl in weather like this in the wrong spot – no sir! Not only was it time-wasting, it could be worse. You could putter around searching and then find you only had coal enough for a couple of days’ fishing before you had to run for home. Running out of coal in these seas was something no one dared contemplate – it was certain death.
Still, we’ve got a good Skipper, Dai reminded himself as he swung the lead and saw it plummet over the side and into the sea; at least he assumed it had gone into the sea since he couldn’t actually see the water, what with the snow and the heaving of the swell. But he began to pay out the line, whilst beside him, Greasy moved his feet restlessly and kept shifting his weight along the rail as he narrowed his eyes against the whirling snow and tried to watch the line – when it slackened they would know they
had reached bottom. Then the Skipper would want it held steady for long enough to bring up some mud, and with luck they might prepare to shoot the trawl.
Dai, also shuffling his feet, thought he felt a slight drag on the lead line; he stared downwards just as Greasy, beside him, lifted a gloved hand, one thumb erect. Dai nodded to show he understood and held on for a count of twenty, then began to bring the lead up once more. It broke surface, immediately becoming a great deal heavier, and the two men brought it inboard. Dai stared down at the sludge which had gathered round the lump of tallow wedged into the lead. It was blackish and full of tiny shell fragments, little specks of red and green which might be weed … he wondered if he would ever be sufficiently experienced to look at the mud, sniff it, stir it with a finger and announce that they would – or would not – shoot the trawl within the hour.
Lately, it had been suggested by the Mate that Dai might like to go for promotion. ‘I started as a deckie, so did the Skipper,’ he had said gruffly. ‘You’re young, intelligent … what about it, Taff?’
‘I’ll see what my young lady says,’ Dai said warily, but he could not help feeling gratified. ‘It ’ud mean moving across the country … but thanks, Harry.’
The Mate, a man of few words, grunted and moved away, and Dai had been thinking about it ever since, on and off. It was not everyone’s game, distant-water trawling, but there was money to be made out here, by God there was! Whilst the British housewife went on buying cod, whilst the thousands of little fish-and-chip shops all over the country went on frying it, then there was profit to be made out here. If tastes ever changed, or if Arctic waters ever became overcrowded, then that was a different matter, but as things stood …
‘Found bottom, sir.’
He had arrived on the bridge almost without noticing, and held out the lead. The Skipper took it, sniffed, touched, nodded.
‘Aye; they’ll be feedin’ hereabouts. We’ll be shootin’ fairly soon so best get yourselves a meal.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
Dai ducked out of the bridge and folded his thigh boots down to calf height, then clattered below to tell anyone handy that they’d found bottom and would shoot shortly. Greasy was already sitting at the long
table on the mess deck, eating what looked like a bacon sandwich. He waved it at Dai as he came in.
‘Is ’e gonna shoot the trawl, Taff?’ he said thickly, through a mouthful of bread and bacon. ‘I thought it would be soon.’