When Daniel arrived home that evening he found his father in a dreadful state. He listened almost open-mouthed with astonishment as Stan told him he had done as he had suggested and opened his heart to Angela, telling her how much she meant to him, and that she had shuddered at the very thought of anything between them and treated him with disdain. Daniel found it hard to believe that Angela could have been so heartless. It was not what he would have expected of her, though he didn’t doubt the truth of his father’s words, or the pain Angela had inflicted on him.
‘You know, Daniel,’ Stan said, ‘this afternoon I witnessed the death of a dream I have carried dormant in my heart for years. When I regained consciousness in hospital and found that Barry had died in an attempt to save me, I wanted to die, certain Angela would hold me at least partially responsible. When, after years, we met again and I realised she harboured no grudge, I felt ecstatically relieved. Back then I really thought she had feelings for me and I truly loved her. I thought, as long as we took it slowly, in time she might feel the same as me and we could look forward to a wonderful life together. Now that can never be.’
There was a lump in Daniel’s throat at his father’s words and he felt a measure of guilt for encouraging Stan to tell Angela how he felt. He knew enough of his father now to know slow but sure was his approach to things and if he had left well alone they might well still be friends.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I obviously totally misread the whole situation and have made things far worse for you.’
‘Not your fault,’ Stan said. ‘I misread the situation myself. I thought she at least cared. She used to once upon a time, but things have definitely changed and it’s not just that she doesn’t like me any more. It’s quite clear that she sees any relationship between us as abhorrent. I found that realisation hard to take, but it’s always better to know.’
Daniel could only guess at how Angela’s rejection had damaged his father, though he had some idea from his tortured face and manner. He felt dislike for Angela festering inside him and, although he knew it was totally unfair, that dislike extended to Connie too. He decided that, though he would meet her the following Saturday because he’d arranged to, that would be it. Connie had said that her mother needed no one else in her life, that they had each other, and they could stay that way as far as he was concerned.
The following Saturday Connie was nervous of meeting up with Daniel and might have cried off, but Angela said she mustn’t do that as Daniel would be waiting for her.
‘What is between Stan and I needn’t affect you directly, though, as I said, it would be awkward if you were to continue to meet him. Just don’t discuss it and you should be fine.’
As agreed, Connie and Daniel met outside the workhouse gates in Steelhouse Lane. They both felt a little constrained. Connie didn’t know how much Daniel knew of the disagreement between their parents and Daniel felt no desire to talk to Connie as he once would have done, and so they walked up Colmore Row in silence.
Connie didn’t mind; she didn’t come to the town that much and when she did she usually made for the Bullring, so she looked about her with interest. There was a vibrant-looking place full of people called the Great Western Arcade on her left across the road, and not far from the gardens around St Philip’s was the Protestant cathedral. The gardens looked very pretty, the borders ablaze with spring flowers, and garden paths intertwined between them, broken up here and there with benches for the weary. They passed by Snow Hill Station too and many banks and important-looking buildings. Towards the end of the road they passed the Grand Hotel where Sarah’s two sisters were working, and then reached the steps of Chamberlain Square.
Daniel broke his silence to say, ‘There’s the library,’ and he pointed.
Connie gasped because the building was magnificent, really magnificent. It was a beautifully sculpted stone edifice, as finely moulded as any church, and a tower rose into the air above the oaken studded front door with a large clock at the top of it.
Almost in a daze, she followed Daniel up the steps past the flowing fountain and through that quite formidable door, and once through it she stood and stared. She was standing in a white-tiled hall and looking up at the lofty ceilings and the sweeping oak staircase leading off to the left-hand side. Daniel couldn’t help but be amused at her awed silence as he led her into the lending library, which he said was the place to borrow the books. Connie was very impressed with the shining wooden counters and panels and shelves that gleamed with care and attention. The shelves were packed with books she couldn’t wait to read. The librarian explained that she couldn’t take books out that day, but she gave Connie the card for her mother to sign and told her on another visit she could take out two books and keep them for two weeks and after that they had to be returned. Connie could scarcely believe that she was allowed to take those beautiful books home with her and vowed she would look after them with great care.
She loved everything about the library, even the respectful, hushed silence. It seemed so right somehow that even her shoes sounded loud on the wooden floors. The reading rooms upstairs stunned her even more. The room had tables double-banked down the length of it, many spread with newspapers. She gasped at the beauty of the decorated pillars that supported the long room, which gave way to curved, elaborately embellished panels in the dome of the roof. The apex of the roof was made of glass so that spring sunlight spilled into the room in a myriad of colours. Connie gave a sigh of contentment.
That day there were only men in the reading room scrutinising the papers laid out on the tables with solemn faces, but there were more people in the reference library, where the bookshelves were arranged in squares to leave space for desks in the middle. Daniel pointed out the subjects in brass plaques above the various sections, which were then arranged in alphabetical order. He said there was a card for every book, filed in the drawers of the slatted wooden cabinets in each section so a person could see in a glance if the library stocked the book they might require. And Connie watched as people lifted these reference books and carried them to the desks and wrote things down in the notebooks they had brought with them, feeling a thrill of excitement as she imagined herself doing the self-same thing.
Once they left the library they went their separate ways by tacit agreement. Daniel didn’t suggest delivering Connie home and Connie didn’t invite him, knowing he wouldn’t be welcome. And yet she felt sad when they said goodbye as if they never intended to meet again, and she didn’t understand any of it.
By the time Connie returned to school she had joined the library officially, her mother having had no objection to filling in the form. Connie had proudly brought her first two books home, The Phoenix and the Carpet and The Story of the Treasure Seekers, and they had enchanted her. They were both written by a lady called E. Nesbit, and the librarian said she had written many more, so if Connie liked the book there would be a variety of others to choose from.
Connie was glad about that because she found she liked the books very much. In fact, she would have been lost without the library and often wished she had been introduced to it sooner. Once she returned to school she worked mainly alone, for the teacher had a class to teach as well as trying to get Connie through matriculation. So she was shown her lesson or exercise and then worked on her own to complete her tasks. This was much easier when she had the notes she had written up from the reference library on Saturday where she went every week to finish assignments set for the weekend.
At school she often worked through breaktime. It was preferable to standing alone in the yard, as if she had the plague, while groups of girls clustered together discussing the world of work they would soon be entering and how they were going to spend their wages, or at least spend the money they would be allowed to keep.
Now, provided the work was done, she could read. Those books would lift the friendless Connie from her back-to-back house in a grimy, grey street and she would join in the characters’ adventures. She often found herself hating to finish because by the end she had become so involved in their lives. Angela was sorry Connie appeared so unpopular, but really the die was cast now, and she thanked God that the library seemed to be helping her daughter.
She wished she could find a similar distraction, something that would fill her mind and stop her remembering the devastation on Stan’s face when he thought it was him baring his soul that had caused her to shudder. But she couldn’t explain without telling him everything and she knew she couldn’t do that, but she felt so wretched at the hurt she had inflicted on the man she was sure she loved. She slept badly but as soon as her eyes opened she felt melancholy descend on her, seeming to wrap itself around all the fibres of her being.
Oh, she longed to talk it over with Maggie, the only person she could talk things over with. But when she called to see her almost a month after Easter, Angela found her friend even more rushed off her feet than she’d thought she’d be, because just as soon as Maggie and Michael moved in permanently, Hilda had taken to her bed.
‘Michael tries to see to his mother,’ Maggie said to Angela. ‘But there are certain things, personal things, he can’t do – washing her and such. So I have to fit that in between cooking the four lodgers’ breakfast, cleaning their rooms, washing the dishes, doing the shopping and cooking and clearing up after the evening meal. Then cleaning the rest of the house and doing the washing for the lodgers as well, and ironing the lot.’
Maggie had bags beneath her eyes and her face looked washed out and drained. She said she had barely time to blow her nose and often forgot to eat herself. Angela knew she couldn’t load her problems on to her for she had enough of her own.
She knew work was the only thing that helped and ensured she would get some sleep each night, and so she called into the pub on her way home. She had taken on Maggie’s weekend cleaning at the pub till they got someone else, telling them not to look for anyone else as she would take on her friend’s duties permanently.
Breda was pleased because no one had applied that she thought suitable and trustworthy, but she did worry about the workload for Angela.
‘It’s a lot for you to take on,’ she said.
‘It’s fine and hard work has never killed me yet,’ she assured Breda.
‘You’ll not see much of Connie, at weekends especially.’
‘I don’t see much of her now,’ Angela said. ‘She spends most of Saturday in the reference library doing the work the teacher has set for the weekend and most of Sunday reading the library books she’s got from the lending library. She’ll hardly notice I’m not there.’
Angela spoke only half the truth, because though Connie found homework much easier when she had access to all the information, and the teacher was impressed by how much better and more confident she had become, she did miss her mother a great deal. As she didn’t complain at all, Angela imagined all was well and that Connie wouldn’t mind her mother taking on extra shifts at the pub, thinking she didn’t miss her at all.
For her fourteenth birthday, Angela bought her a wristwatch, Maggie sent her some pretty bangles with her card, and she had cards from America with dollars inside, but nothing came from anyone else. Connie told her mother not to set her heart on any sort of gathering because she thought no one would come.
Now and again she thought of Stan and Daniel. Though she and Daniel hadn’t fallen out, they both felt loyalty to their respective parents and the subject was like a cloud over them so their relationship had cooled. She often thought it a particular pity that her mother had lost the friendship of Stan, a man she had known for years and who she had always spoken well of. Connie knew Angela wasn’t happy about it either because she seldom smiled any more and never laughed. She wanted to urge her mother to at least try to make up the quarrel with Stan but was too nervous of her reaction to say anything.
The school closed for the summer and many of Connie’s classmates got employment of one sort or another, including Sarah, who left Bell Barn Road with barely a backward glance and went to join her sisters at the Grand Hotel.
As for Connie, weeks stretched ahead of her. Although she had been given holiday assignments, she knew she would find it hard to fill those hours – in fact it would be virtually impossible without the library and that was where she went.
The librarians were used to her coming in every Saturday and always spoke to her. One librarian, called Miss Platt, was what Connie would describe as prim and proper. Her skirts were navy, black or grey and worn much longer than most ladies did, in fact almost touching the old-fashioned button boots on her feet. Her blouses were of muted pastel colours and fastened with a cameo brooch at the throat. She spoke in a very posh way, seeming to squeeze the words from between thin lips. Her sharp nose always seemed to be lifted, her grey eyes were like pieces of flint in her sallow skin and her grey hair was scraped so tightly back from her face it had caused her eyebrows to rise as if she were constantly surprised.
Inwardly she had no time for children, thinking them noisy and messy and nothing more than a distraction in a library. She knew if she had her way she’d ban them altogether, but as she couldn’t do that she would go out of her way to make them feel tolerated rather than welcome.
Connie had sensed that from the beginning – she had met people like Miss Platt before – and initially she kept out of her way as much as possible, going with any queries or to have her books date-stamped to the younger and much prettier librarian Miss McGowan. She wore similar clothes to Miss Platt, but her skirts were much shorter and fuller, she had prettier shoes and her blouses were often open at the neck so the coloured beads she wore were visible. She had pretty hair, a mixture between blonde and brown, and though she too wore it tied back from her face, she allowed little curls to escape so they framed her face. She was a pleasant woman, a smile often lighting up her soft brown eyes, and she always had a kind word for Connie.
However, Connie’s diligence while at the library, the respectful way she treated the books she borrowed and the regularity of her visits eventually wore down Miss Platt’s opinion and she acknowledged with Miss McGowan that Connie wasn’t that bad considering her age. So when she arrived that first day of the holidays and admitted she would probably be lonely through the summer, Miss Platt did not object when Miss McGowan said, if she was willing, she could come a couple of days in the week as well as her regular Saturday and give them a hand.
‘There’s always something to do in a library and we are usually busier in the summer,’ she explained. ‘We get a lot of children in and some do tend to throw the books about and it takes time often to put the library to rights after they’ve gone. And of course books are coming back in all the time and have to be replaced on the shelves.’
It was a dream job for Connie and she was more than willing. She told her mother about it excitably when they were sitting at their evening meal that night. Angela heard what Connie said, but she struggled to get enthusiastic about her about putting books away in a library. And she didn’t know why the thought of working with this Miss McGowan she thought so much of should light up her face in a way Angela hadn’t seen in ages. Pessimistic feelings crowded in on Angela. She acknowledged she was jealous that Connie was having a good time without her and tried to find the right words, saying how pleased she was for Connie. However, her falling-out with Stan, and the fact that she missed him, nagged away at her like a scab to be picked over. And all the while the deeper shame about her own child that she had left in the workhouse threatened to overwhelm her. Added to that, her levels of exhaustion meant she had little time for any respite.
Connie wasn’t fooled by her mother’s platitudes and she took her mother’s lack of enthusiasm to be disinterest, deciding it would be a long time before she told her anything again.
Connie loved working at the library. There she felt valued and so had confided in Miss McGowan and Miss Platt about the coolness between her and her mother and the reasons why.
‘She doesn’t listen to me any more,’ she said. ‘I really think she cares more about the people at the pub that she works at than she does for me and she’s unhappy most of the time.’
Miss Platt and Miss McGowan couldn’t help with Connie’s problems. They didn’t know Angela and couldn’t have interfered even if they had known her, but it helped Connie that they listened and she wished the holidays would go on and on.
Angela’s inherent despondency had been noted at the pub and Breda and Paddy were at a loss to know what had caused her to lose her sparkle.
‘When I ask her she says she’s fine,’ Breda complained. ‘But I know she’s anything but.’
‘Eddie McIntyre was asking if she was ill,’ Breda said. ‘I said she wasn’t, just a bit down, and it would do him no harm to ask her out a time or two.’
Paddy stared at her. ‘You never told him that?’
‘Yes I did and I don’t know why you are so surprised,’ Breda said. ‘You were all for them getting together before and it was me had misgivings.’
‘I don’t know why I think that’s not a good idea,’ Paddy admitted. ‘The man has done nothing to me, it’s just a feeling. Yet there’s something about him, he’s a bit too sure of himself, and that laughter he’s so ready with doesn’t reach his eyes … And when he’s had a few I’ve noticed that he has a quarrelsome temper on him. He’s been on the verge of fisticuffs more than once … Oh, I suppose I’m being silly and too protective of Angela.’
‘I’ll say you are,’ Breda said. ‘Not only is Angela a grown woman, she is also no fool and she has already refused Eddie once.’
‘Has she, by God?’ Paddy said.
‘She has indeed, because the man told me himself,’ Breda said. ‘So maybe she felt the same doubts as you have about Eddie McIntyre. Personally, I think it a pity for he’s about the only one can put even the ghost of a smile on her face. Still, that’s her decision and if he has been rejected once he’s hardly likely to try a second time.’
But Breda had underestimated Eddie, who was very attracted to Angela and frustrated that she wouldn’t agree to walk out with him somewhere he might get her alone and show her some of the delights she must be missing. A young woman like her would have needs that he could guess hadn’t been addressed in years, and handled right she would be ripe for the picking.
He pulled out all the stops to cheer her up because it was obvious she was depressed about something. He had no idea why, though he suspected it might be sexual frustration. A woman such as Angela might not ever recognise it as that, because he imagined she had been brought up thinking of sex as dirty and talking about it or even thinking about it sinful. But even if she wouldn’t admit it, he imagined she must long for fulfilment, even if this sexual desire was buried deep.
Angela knew what the matter with her was: she ached with loneliness. She missed confiding in Maggie more than she thought possible, for she was the only one she could talk to totally freely. She had driven Stan away, as well as Daniel, who naturally enough sided with his father, and somehow she had also lost Connie. She felt her slipping away from her each day – their closeness was gone and that caused her extreme heartache.
Angela knew that the solution to her loneliness lay in her own hands, for if she went to Stan and apologised she was sure they could at least be friends. But she knew he would ask her why she reacted the way she did when he had spoken words of love and nothing but the truth would suffice. And the truth was the one thing she couldn’t tell him.
As for Connie, maybe the slight animosity between them was something all mothers went through with their daughters of this age. Certainly the women in the street and those she served at the shop years ago had often complained their compliant younger girls disappeared once they had left school and began work. It was something she hadn’t thought would happen between her and Connie though. She’d thought the love they shared was deep and strong enough to withstand anything, but she had to admit it had been hard-going of late.
Connie knew it had been her mother’s choice to take up extra hours at the pub, which meant there was little time for them to have their cosy evening chats with each other. By working all the hours God sent, Angela was saying, as far as Connie was concerned, that the drinkers at the pub and people who were barely more than strangers were more important than she was herself. So she certainly wasn’t going to bend over backwards to make life easier for her mother. She knew Angela was hurt by this attitude, but she had found she didn’t care like she should. The business with Stan was so out of character and to her mind Connie felt that her mother was making a rod for her own back with her attitude. With no explanation for why she had become so quarrelsome and introverted, Connie decided she had brought it upon herself.
The holidays came to an end and, with a heavy heart, Connie did her last day at the library.
Miss McGowan spoke to her before she left. ‘I know that your mother would like you to go to university and you are totally against doing it,’ she said. ‘But I believe your mother has your best interests at heart, she just wants you to have a good job. Isn’t that what most parents want for their children, Constance?’
Connie just nodded and Miss McGowan went on, ‘I have been doing some research and if you get good marks in your Highers you would have a good chance of getting a job in a library. You certainly seem to like working with books.’
‘Oh, I’d love that.’
‘Well, I’d advise you to say nothing to your mother for now, see how you do in your exams first, but there are ways of moving up in the libraries if you wish to and that would please your mother. Meanwhile, you’ll be able to continue working with the books you love and getting a wage for doing it as well. What do you say to the possibility? We’d put a good word in for you as you’ve been a great help to us in the time you’ve been here.’
‘Oh, Miss McGowan,’ Connie said, almost overcome by the librarian’s thoughtfulness. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘It still means returning to school and nose to the grindstone again.’
‘I don’t care so much about that now I have something to aim for.’
And it didn’t matter and she returned to school in a more positive frame of mind. Miss McGowan advised her not to tell her mother but she had no intention of doing that. It wouldn’t do any good, for her mother didn’t seem to care about her any more and she was seldom at home these days anyway. If she had said this to Angela she would have to concede that she had a point for Breda had developed severe arthritis. She had coped with it through the warm summer weather and balmy September but October heralded its arrival with squally rain and gales and a plunge in temperature. Breda’s arthritis flared up and the pain meant that she could no longer cope with the long hours behind the bar.
Angela volunteered for extra shifts in the evenings and lunchtimes and Paddy was only too glad of her extra help. It meant that Connie frequently returned to an empty house. She thought she would have welcomed company after her lonely days at school which left her feeling emotionally adrift. She often remembered with a little sadness the fun and laughter she had once shared with her mother and wondered, not for the first time, at her change in character.
It took Angela some time to realise that one of the perks of the extra shifts serving behind the bar was that she would see more of Eddie McIntyre for he was there every night. She’d come to rely on his company to lift her spirits and found herself disappointed if for some reason he didn’t appear as usual each night.
He was handsome in his own way, though not like Barry had been. He was smaller with mousy brown hair but a twinkle in his hazel eyes that hinted of good times together. She often found herself smiling and laughing at his jokes and the way he had of saying things, and for a while her own troubles that had been a source of unhappiness began to be pushed to the back of her mind. She had dreaded the arrival of winter and the long, dark, dreary days which lowered her spirits at the best of times, and she began to wonder why she had refused him when he had asked her out, for it would have done her no harm.
Had she thought it wrong to go out with another man, especially when she liked Eddie well enough? She didn’t know and Breda encouraged her.
‘You’re not marrying the man, just going out with him,’ she maintained. ‘You work hard and you deserve some time to enjoy yourself. You’ve heard that saying about all work and no play making Jack a dull boy. Well, it works for Jill just as well.’
‘But Breda, I’ve refused him once already.’
‘I know,’ Breda said. ‘And no man likes rejection and he will hardly ask again unless he thinks there’s some chance of success this time. So you need to be extra nice and welcoming to him and then he might just try again.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘Then he doesn’t,’ Breda said with a shrug. ‘And not much that can be done about that. But aren’t you jumping the gun a bit here? Let’s take one step at a time and the first thing you have to do is be nice to Eddie McIntyre.’