The Urchin's Song (56 page)

So much had changed . . . Josie sat down again and commenced reading the paper to Lily, but her heart wasn’t in it. Once she’d vowed she would never visit the north again, mainly because of her feelings for Barney, but now she spent several weeks each year in Sunderland and their paths hadn’t crossed once. Hubert and Laura were the proud parents of three bairns; Ada and Dora now owned a guest-house by the sea in Hartlepool with money she had settled on them once she was on her feet again - Hartlepool was far enough from Sunderland for their past not to be known but near enough for them to feel they were home - and Gertie and Anthony were now running their own agency, and very successfully too. Prudence had married her Georgie and now had twin boys, and their birth had given Vera a new lease of life, especially with Prudence and Georgie renting a house a couple of streets away from Vera. According to Horace, who wasn’t totally enamoured of the situation, if Prudence wasn’t in their house it was a darn good bet it was because Vera was visiting Prudence’s! Everyone was sorted. Everyone.

And she . . . she had her career. Her wonderful career. And it was wonderful, oh aye, it was, but lately she had become tired of the constant travelling and different venues, and she had told Timothy so. All her family were well set up now, and if she never sang again she had enough in the bank to live comfortably for the rest of her life, and support the establishment at the back of the Caledonian Market. That was still important to her. Timothy had been aghast at the prospect of her retiring from the halls but Josie had expected that, and in answer to what she’d do with her time she had answered that she would probably travel a little, but for pleasure rather than rushing from one venue to another.

She might do the Grand Tour of Europe for a year or two; everyone said the Mediterranean climate was wonderful, and it was well known that travel broadened the mind in a way little else could.

Josie didn’t reveal her ultimate plan to her agent; that of setting up an establishment which would be a secure and safe place for mothers with young bairns. For a long time now she had thought that if her mother had had somewhere to run to when she had first understood what her husband intended for their two oldest daughters, the whole pattern for the family would have been different.

Josie felt she had cut her teeth on the dwelling place for Lily and the other elderly women; she now knew what was involved in running and maintaining a large establishment. But the other home would be different. She had no illusions that such an undertaking would be easy, and no doubt she would have to employ at least one man to provide some sort of protection against angry husbands or fathers, but her beginnings had left a deep impression on her which had been enhanced further by her involvement in the Suffrage Movement. Women had virtually no protection in the male-dominated society in which they lived from males within their own family.

Timothy had been non-committal about her plans to travel, but he had made it plain he expected Josie to continue with the project he was in the process of setting up which had already cost him a great deal of time and trouble.

Josie was to complete a tour of New York and Washington, and she would have the honour of travelling on the maiden voyage of the
Titanic
. He would arrange for her to perform nightly on the magnificent liner, Timothy had gone on, as further publicity for the tour.

Josie knew the tickets for this voyage were like gold dust, and she rather suspected Timothy’s enthusiasm for her to appear with the band was financial more than anything else. This way she would not only travel to the venue in New York in style but get paid for the privilege. However, such deals were the mark of a good agent and she had no argument with the proposal. The
Titanic
, the pride of the White Star fleet, had been launched in May the year before from the yards of Harland & Wolff in Belfast amid great publicity, and Josie, like everyone else in the country, was intrigued by the massive ship which was proclaimed to be unsinkable because of its sixteen water-tight compartments. But this would be her swan song, she told Timothy. From Washington she would probably begin her trip to Europe, and a new stage of her life would begin.

Poor Timothy . . . Josie knew she had tried his patience since he had become her agent and she was a great disappointment to the dapper little man. She simply didn’t fit into the role Timothy considered suitable for such a successful and popular music-hall star. She didn’t live in an enormous house or drive one of the new motor car contraptions which were becoming all the rage; in fact, she didn’t even keep her own horse and carriage, and all Timothy’s persuasive powers regarding more fame and fortune had failed to move her from her intended plan.

However, one aspect of it all had caused Josie great heart-searching, if only Timothy knew. The tour, followed by the trip to Europe, would mean she was away from England for many months - possibly even a year or two - and both Vera and Lily were in poor health. She’d discussed her plans with them individually and they had both urged her to go. Vera had Horace and more especially Prudence’s bairns to shower her time and attention on, and Lily was surrounded by friends in the home. ‘Follow your heart, lass,’ Vera had said bracingly. ‘Life’s too short for regrets.’

Josie agreed with the sentiment but, probably because she was still worried about her two dear friends, she told herself, night after night she had begun to dream the old nightmare again. The dark sea, the overwhelming sense of fear and panic and everyone drowning, the screams and cries as relentless waters closed over their heads . . . When she awoke, gasping and damp with perspiration, she couldn’t sleep for hours. But it was just a dream, it wasn’t real; not like Oliver’s death and her losing Barney. And she
had
lost him, he was gone from her as surely as Oliver. If he’d been inclined to offer anything more than friendship years ago, her behaviour in the aftermath of Oliver’s death had convinced him otherwise.

She’d finally come straight out with it and made it plain to Vera a couple of Christmases ago that she didn’t wish to hear what Barney was doing - and with whom. Vera invariably mentioned Betty’s stepson, and Josie knew she was curious as to why the two of them had ‘fallen out’ as Vera had put it more than once.

‘There was no falling out,’ Josie had insisted over Christmas dinner. ‘How could there be? There was nothing to fall out over. But Barney has his own life which he obviously enjoys very much and I have mine. That is all, Vera. And I would much prefer that we didn’t mention Barney and the whole scenario again. All right?’

Vera had pressed her lips together and thrust her chin into her neck but at least she hadn’t related further stories from that point regarding Barney’s meteoric rise in the world of business on Josie’s subsequent visits. As far as Josie was concerned that was all that mattered. Not that she’d minded hearing about that side of Barney’s life in actual fact - she’d been glad of every success which had come his way - but Vera never had stopped there. Invariably the current girl - all ‘good Sunderland lasses’ according to Vera - was brought up. If her old friend was to be believed, they were all apparently besotted with Barney; in fact, she led one to assume there was scarcely one female heart in the north which didn’t beat a little faster when Barney Robson put in an appearance.

Five years ago Barney had entered into a partnership with one of the most highly respected businessmen in the town, and this man had had the vision to build a fine new theatre purely for the purpose of moving pictures which were becoming more and more popular with every year which passed.

According to Vera it had all been a great success, the building, which held a thousand patrons and had cost £4000 to build, being full to capacity every night. Consequently Barney and his partner had gone on to build two more theatres in Newcastle on the same lines, so sure were they that this ‘passing fancy’, as moving pictures had been labelled, was the entertainment of the future. The last Josie had heard before she had had her little talk with Vera, Barney had more projects further afield and the money was rolling in.

So, Josie thought now as the horse clip-clopped its way home, Barney had everything he wanted out of life. A different lass for every day of the week - and the prestige of being a wealthy and influential businessman. And that was fine. Just fine. If that’s what he wanted, she really didn’t care. Which was why her mind continued to probe at the matter right until she descended from the carriage and paid the driver what she owed him.

So intent was she on her thoughts that she didn’t notice the tall, well-built man standing across the other side of the road until he called her name, and then she turned and Barney was there in front of her. But a different Barney from the last time she’d seen him five years ago. Now the powerful-looking and strikingly handsome man in front of her was familiar only by the vivid clear green eyes. He seemed taller, broader somehow, and gone was the northern cap and working-class persona. His suit looked to be of the finest tweed; his shoes of highly polished brown leather, and he was wearing his bowler hat confidently, as though he was used to the feel and fit of it.

Josie stared at him, her heart pounding so hard it constricted her breathing. For the life of her she couldn’t say a word. Gone was the experienced and cosmopolitan lady who was equally at home in the most stately mansion or mean wretched hovel, and who knew exactly what to say to put those about her at their ease in both situations. The years had melted away, and Josie was back in Betty’s scullery staring into the face of a handsome young man with startlingly green eyes, and she was as tongue-tied and shy as she’d been then.

‘Hello, Josie.’

His voice was the same, just the same, and she had to swallow hard before she could say, ‘Barney, what a surprise,’ in as natural a voice as she could manage with the blood singing through her veins like a torrent. Then, as a sudden thought struck, she said quickly, ‘Vera? Is everything all right at home?’

‘Yes, yes. Vera’s fine, as far as I know.’ This was not said soothingly as one might have expected, but in a tone which carried more than a touch of impatience. Josie watched him take a deep breath and his voice was more moderate when he said, ‘Of course I should have expected you might think the worst. I’m sorry, it didn’t occur to me.’

Talk. Say something. Act normal, for goodness’ sake.
The commands were there in her brain but she was utterly unable to obey them. She stared at him, her eyes wide, and it was with some effort that she said, ‘You’re . . . you’re visiting London?’

It was a stupid remark in the circumstances and he made her doubly aware of this when he replied, ‘Yes, Josie. As you can see, I am indeed visiting London.’

The spring weather was mild but not over-warm, but Josie felt herself beginning to perspire when, in the next instant, he reached out and took her hand, saying, ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m nervous.’

He was nervous? This big, vigorous, commanding individual that was Barney and yet not Barney was nervous? This man who had had women galore according to Vera, and who had not tried to hide the fact? This last thought put a welcome shot of adrenalin where there had only been weakness and turmoil, and now Josie’s voice was studiously polite. ‘I don’t quite understand.’

‘Can we go inside?’

She suddenly became aware that they were standing in the street and he was still holding her hand and, her cheeks flushing still more at what she had allowed, she said quickly, ‘Oh of course, I’m sorry. Yes, do come in. I’ll get Mrs Wilde to serve us some tea.’

Mrs Wilde came into the hall from the kitchen as they entered by the front door, and although she might have been extremely interested in Josie’s visitor she didn’t betray the fact as Josie introduced her to Barney.

Barney remained silent for a moment after they had walked into the sitting room and the door was shut behind them, Mrs Wilde scurrying away to make a tray of tea. He glanced about him, his green eyes narrowed, and Josie couldn’t read anything in his face, so it surprised her when he said suddenly, ‘This isn’t what I expected.’

‘No?’ She didn’t quite know how to take that and it must have showed, because he smiled slowly.

‘The way you’ve got on, I suppose I expected . . .’ He paused, considering his words. ‘Something grander.’

‘You are as bad as my agent.’ And then she bit hard on her lip as the word brought Oliver into the room as surely as if he had materialised in front of them.

‘But you do have a housekeeper.’ His tone was flat, harder, and she knew he had sensed the spectre too.

‘Mrs Wilde is a friend,’ Josie returned steadily, ‘and with the hours I work and the amount of time I spend away each year touring the provinces and so on, it’s good to have someone here taking care of things.’ And then she forced herself to say, and as casually as if he was an ordinary visitor, ‘Won’t you sit down?’

‘I don’t want to sit down.’ It was abrupt, almost hostile.

She blinked but then her back straightened as she thought, How dare he! How dare he turn up here after all this time and act as though he has a right to behave however he likes. And if he had intended a criticism regarding her employment of a housekeeper then he could jolly well mind his own business. And it was a follow-on to this thought when she said, ‘Are you visiting the capital alone or have you brought a . . . friend with you?’

She’d allowed just the merest of deliberate pauses before the word ‘friend’, but the tightness in her chest which always accompanied thoughts of Barney with another woman must have come over in her voice despite all her efforts to the contrary, because he said, his voice suddenly very quiet, ‘My friends bother you?’

She tried to sound airy as she said, ‘Bother me? Of course not.’

‘Because most of them were only that - friends.’

Most of them.

‘Do you still blame me?’