There was heavy rain in Belfast on Monday night. Rosie woke, heard it drumming on the roof but was so tired she fell asleep again without having time to worry about any consequences it might have. All it did was freshen the streets of the city. Next morning, the air was clear and bright and when her colleagues arrived from Portadown they replied to her anxious questions about the rain with laughter. They’d had no rain at all.

The dry, settled weather seemed like a good omen and the days that followed were rewarding and enjoyable. On Tuesday, a busload of ladies from the Armagh Group of Women’s Institutes arrived to visit the fair, among them Miss Wilson, Mrs Mackay and Mary Braithwaite. They were tremendously impressed with the stand and what the staff were wearing and delighted by the colour postcards of roses they were invited to choose. On Wednesday, Dr Stewart arrived with Aunt Elizabeth and her grandmother. They confessed they’d kept their visit a surprise because they didn’t want to upset any plans she might have made.

‘Norman Lambert, perhaps? What do you think, Rosie?’

She nodded at Mary, a shy country girl, who in the short space of time since Monday was now cheerfully choosing buttonholes for the gentlemen visitors as if she’d been doing it for years. She watched, delighted, as Mary carefully pinned the rose on Dr Stewart’s lapel.

‘That smells wonderful, Mary. Do I have to buy a whole bushfull now?’

‘No, sir, just tell everyone where you got it, please.’

‘I will do that with great pleasure, my dear. Thank you very much.’

‘And ladies can choose colour postcards,’ Rosie said, giving both her aunt and her grandmother a quick hug.

‘Rosie, these are really lovely,’ said Elizabeth, casting her eye over the selection spread out before her. ‘Will your father manage to get up to Belfast this week?’

‘Yes. Friday afternoon. Bobby and Charlie too. They’ve all managed a half day off.’

‘Richard is hoping to come up tomorrow. He arrived home this morning looking ghastly. Apparently it was a rough crossing and after that they lost his luggage,’ she went on, raising her eyebrows.

‘But I thought it was to be the end of June.’

‘So did I, but we all forgot there’s a fortnight’s holiday included in his year’s contract.’

Elizabeth moved away and crossed the stand to join her husband, Dr Stewart, who was deep in conversation with Brian Singleton and at the same time casting his eye down his lists very intently.

Rosie turned to her grandmother and found her gazing at the publicity photographs taken on Monday.

‘This is a splendid photograph, Rosie. Pity it’s not in colour. Were these the Americans we’ve heard about?’ she asked, examining the other images in the display Brian had added to the stand the previous day. ‘Very good of Mr Sam. Good of Slater Hamilton too,’ she said thoughtfully, running her finger along the large black and white print and pausing at his tall figure.

‘I had dinner with him on Monday.’

‘Oh, you did, did you?’

She could see her grandmother was pleased and would have said more, but as another group of visitors began to swirl around them there was no opportunity.

‘Would you have a pencil and an envelope?’ her grandmother asked.

Rosie produced a pencil from her pocket and gave it to her, but an envelope was more difficult. She left her choosing a postcard and went across to ask Brian if he had one. All he could offer was one that bore the address of the Portadown showroom printed on it, but she took it and thanked him. She knew it wouldn’t matter.

‘I’ve just written a short message,’ her grandmother said, as she slipped the postcard into the envelope and sealed it. ‘But it may make it easier.’

‘I’ll see he gets it.’

‘Oh, I mustn’t forget what I have to tell you. Helen is engaged.’

For one long, distressing moment, Rosie felt herself go rigid with anxiety.

‘I’ve forgotten the young man’s name, but Richard P. says he’s a good chap. Another doctor, I gather.’

She gave Rosie a small, secret smile, squeezed her arm and said they must see each other soon, they had rather a lot to talk about. Then with a wave, she went to join Elizabeth and Richard, who had just finished ordering some new roses for their front garden.

An hour later, Rosie turned to find a familiar, tall figure smiling down at her.

‘Mr Hamilton,’ she said politely, the stand still crowded with colleagues and visitors.

‘I can see how busy you are, but I thought you’d like to see this. We can make arrangements another time.’

He handed her the reply-paid envelope on which she’d written his name and waited patiently while she read the short message several times over.

‘Lizzie, I have such wonderful news,’ Rosie said, as she pushed open the door of their room sometime after six, her arms full of roses, still lovely and full of fragrance, but already beginning to be overblown.

Lizzie was lying on the sofa, a hot-water bottle clutched to her stomach. She was very pale and looked as if she might have been crying.

‘Oh my poor dear, what’s wrong?’

She dropped the roses on the nearest single bed, came over and took her friend’s hand. ‘I feel awful.’

‘Is it your monthly? Has it just started?’ Lizzie nodded, bending over, clutching the hot-water bottle fiercely against her stomach.

‘You don’t normally have much trouble, do you?’

Rosie bit her lip. It was perfectly obvious something was not right, but Lizzie wasn’t doing much to tell her how she felt. While she was still thinking what to do next, Lizzie gave a little cry.

‘I think I’ve wet myself.’

She attempted to stand up, but had to sit down again, crying out in horror as she saw blood trickle down her bare legs and make small puddles on the worn carpet.

‘I’m goin’ to die,’ she moaned. ‘Somethin’ awful’s happenin’ to me. An’ what’s poor Hugh going to do without me?’

She burst into tears and sobbed as if her heart would break.

‘No, you’re not. No one dies of a heavy period. Here, stick this between your legs and we’ll get you sorted out.’

Rosie picked up the neatly folded hand towel beside her own bed, put her arm round her and helped her remove her saturated knickers. There was indeed an awful lot of blood. She was concerned at the amount and its appearance.

‘What was last month’s like? Was it very light?’

She shook her head.

‘It didn’t come at all last month.’

‘Does that often happen?

‘No. It’s never happened before. Rosie, I’m goin’ to bleed to death. I know I am.’

‘No you are not.’

Rosie racked her brains trying to think of what might help. She knew perfectly well what a missing period meant. If Lizzie and Hugh were married, there’d be no puzzle at all, but she was certain Lizzie had never made love with Hugh. This was the girl who had never even seen a boy peeing in a hedge until the day she’d met him in the strawberry field.

‘Sure them one’s could pick it up off the grass.’

Suddenly, she remembered overhearing her mother and one of her neighbours fulminating about some girls who were ‘always falling pregnant’. From what she’d been able to grasp, it seemed they were so fertile that even a kiss and cuddle behind a haystack could have an unfortunate outcome.

‘Lizzie dear, now I don’t want you to be upset with me, but I need to know. Have you and Hugh been cuddling together without your clothes on?’

‘An’ what if we have?’ she replied crossly, a little colour mitigating the ghastly pallor of her face. ‘I’ve never done what you’re not supposed to do. I know better than that.’

Rosie took a deep breath.

‘But have you ever got damp?’

‘Yes, well,’ she said, tossing her head. ‘But sure what does that matter? I told you we’ve never done anythin’ wrong. Hugh knows all about that. He’s explained it all to me, but he’d never do that. It would be trouble for me and he loves me far too much for that.’

Rosie gave a sigh of relief. She’d no idea what she was going to do next, but at least she could reassure Lizzie she wasn’t going to bleed to death.

‘Lizzie dear, I know you’ve done nothing wrong, but I think there may have been an accident.’

‘You mean I’m in the family way?’ she demanded, her eyes wide, a look of absolute horror on her face.

‘Well, you were, at least I think you were, but you’re certainly not now. That’s what the bleeding’s about. That’s why you’re going to have to see a doctor.’

She shook her head vigorously.

‘If I see a doctor then Auntie will know and she’ll tell Da. He’ll go mad. I can’t do that.’

‘I suppose you’d rather die?’

‘Ach, Rosie, don’t be cross with me,’ she said, bursting into tears again.

Rosie put her arms round her and comforted her.

‘I do know one doctor who wouldn’t tell anyone. If I can get him to come, would that be all right?’

‘That nice old man, the one you call Uncle Richard?’

Rosie nodded. That nice old man, as Lizzie called him, had driven to Belfast this morning, spent the day tramping round the trade fair and was probably now having a well-earned nap after his supper, but at least she could talk to him, or Aunt Elizabeth, and they would know what it was best to do. Granny would know too, but the chances were she was still with them at Dromore. She often stayed the night if they’d been out together all day.

‘I can’t telephone from here, can I? Your aunt might hear.’

‘You’re in luck. She’s away over t’ see m’ cousin and won’t be back till after nine.’

‘Right. Now you promise not to frighten yourself while I’m gone. You’re not going to die. Got that? Here’s another towel. You might need it. I’ll clean you up when I come back.’

She picked up the phone and a crisp voice said, ‘Number please?’

‘Dromore six.’

‘I’m trying to connect you.’

At least she had no difficulty remembering the Stewart’s number, it was one of the first telephones in Dromore. She listened to the small noises coming through the earpiece on the heavy handset and wondered if she might have been cut off. Then she heard the fierce ring of a bell at the other end.

‘Doctor Stewart’s practice. Can I help you?’

For a moment, she was so taken aback at the sound of Richard P.’s voice that she completely forgot what she was going to say. She listened helplessly as he patiently repeated what he’d said.

‘Richard, I’m so sorry … it’s Rosie. I wasn’t expecting to hear you.’

‘Rosie!’

His tone was a mixture of surprise and joy. ‘Rosie, is everything all right? Are you all right?’

‘Yes, yes. I’m fine.’

There was no missing either the concern or the tenderness in his voice.

‘I was hoping to see you tomorrow, even if just briefly,’ he went on quickly. ‘Mother says you’re very busy, but I thought we might meet at the weekend.’

‘Richard, that would be lovely, but I need to ask you some urgent doctor questions right now. I’m staying with Lizzie and she’s bleeding. I need to know what to do.’

‘Right. Tell me what you can.’

His tone of voice had changed instantly.

She told him about what had happened so far, explained about the missing period and Lizzie’s innocence about the possibility of her having conceived.

‘Yes, it certainly sounds like a miscarriage,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll come right away, but I’d better tell you what happens next in case I’m delayed. I know where you are. What’s the number of the house?’

She gave him the number, then listened carefully as he explained about the release of the conception sac which was bulbous and could be painful.

‘Richard, we might have Lizzie’s aunt to deal with. Could we say it’s appendicitis, or we think it is?’

‘Yes, of course. One often gets false alarms with appendicitis. Don’t worry if there’s a lot more blood. It always looks far more than it really is. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

Even allowing for the empty roads and the fact that Richard had borrowed his father’s more powerful motor, Rosie was amazed at how quickly he managed the journey from Dromore.

Less than an hour after her telephone call, she heard a motor stop outside. Looking down from the bay window, she saw him jump out, snatch his bag out of the back seat and stride towards the front door. She ran down to let him in.

‘How is she?’

‘She seems in good spirits. I think it’s me that’s flagging.’

‘What about the conception sac?’

‘About half an hour ago. It was painful, but I told her it was good practice for having a baby. It didn’t go on for terribly long.’

‘Hello Lizzie. I’m Richard,’ he said holding out his hand. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Awful. But I don’t think I’m dyin’ any more.’

‘No, we’re not having that,’ he said briskly.

He took her pulse and looked around, fixing his eyes on a clean towel that covered a pile of stained cloths. He raised an eyebrow at Rosie who nodded and brought the relevant one for him to examine.

‘You’ve been lucky that you had Rosie here. There’s no harm done and you’ll be all right in a day or two. The only thing we need is to avoid infection. A bath tonight when you’re feeling a little better. Regular washing and clean linen. I’ve brought some antiseptic you can use and if you’re in any doubt at all you can ring me.’

Lizzie looked up at him and smiled.

‘Neither Rosie nor me’s had any supper. All that blood would put ye off. But I’m starvin’. D’ye think the pair of ye could make some scrambled egg and toast? There’s always plenty of eggs in the kitchen, but not much else. I’ll be all right for a while now,’ she added firmly, looking from one to the other. ‘I’ll maybe go to sleep for a bit,’ she added, dipping her eyelids.

The boarder’s kitchen was clean and bare, but rather dim and miserable. Even at midsummer, little sunlight ever penetrated its north-facing window and when it did, it was absorbed immediately by the dark wood of the cupboards and by the brown and cream linoleum on the floor. There was a permanent smell of Jeyes Fluid and unburnt gas.

Rosie fetched a clean towel from the linen cupboard and together they washed their hands in the icy cold water that gushed fiercely from the single tap over the large, square Belfast sink.

‘You’ve done very well, Rosie, especially when you had to work out what was happening. I wish some of the nurses I worked with in London could keep so calm.’

‘I didn’t feel calm. I was really upset I didn’t know what was going to happen next, till you told me.’

‘It’s not what you feel, Rosie. It’s what you do. But it’s sad poor Lizzie had such a fright, because she was so ill-informed. Didn’t you do any biology at Miss Wilson’s?’

Rosie burst out laughing as they shared the towel to dry their hands.

‘The life cycle of the butterfly, the circulation of the blood and the germination of sunflower seeds.’

‘You’re joking! No, you’re not. You’re serious.’

‘Dear Miss Wilson, she is lovely and kind and full of wisdom about how one copes with the difficulties of living and growing up, but she never married and she thinks such things are not to be spoken of.’

‘It could have been very unhappy for Lizzie.’

She nodded and opened the cupboard door to see whether there really were eggs or not.

‘Rosie, there’s something I want to ask you.’

‘Mmm,’ she said, her back to him, as she found a whole rack of eggs, began to pick them up and count them into a bowl.

‘I can think of no more unsuitable place than our present surroundings. I had quite other plans, but after being patient a whole year, I cannot wait a minute longer. Rosie, will you marry me? As soon as possible. Please.’

She put the bowl of eggs down on the table as if it were very fragile, turned round and looked at him. He stood leaning against the sink, the one place where he wouldn’t get in her way if she moved between the cupboard and the stove. She could not quite make out the look in his eyes. Excitement. Anxiety, perhaps. Some mixture of both.

‘Yes, Richard, I will. As soon as you want, but just suddenly I think I need to sit down.’

It was seven o’clock on Saturday evening when the very last rose petal was picked up from the marble floor of the City Hall. Dismantling the stand seemed to take no time at all in comparison with the long hours of putting it together the previous Sunday, working behind closed doors, aware of the empty streets of the city and the echoing peal of church bells.

The Northern Ireland Trade Fair had been a huge success. Not only for McGredy’s, whose order books were full, but for most of the other companies who had put their goods on show or advertised their services. Mr Sam had been delighted, had given them all a bonus and said that all those who had worked so hard in Belfast should take Monday and Tuesday off.

As she drove back home to Portadown in the company’s van, squeezed into the front seat between Billy and Mary, the van full of the paraphernalia of the display, she looked back on the week just past as over a huge landscape viewed from the top of a hill.

So many successes and such unexpected joy.

Apart from Lizzie, no one yet knew of her engagement to Richard. Tomorrow he would be coming over to meet her parents and to take her back to Rathdrum for her promised visit to her grandmother. She’d no idea what her mother would say to Richard, or whether she would even be there to greet him, but of her father’s response she had little doubt. Granny had spoken often enough of the qualities of her godson and Da knew how good her judgement was.

She could see his face and that slow smile, so much more frequent these days. It reminded her of a particular smile she would never forget. It was a genuine coincidence that Uncle James, as she now called him, had come back from a visit to the new government building at Stormont on Friday afternoon and paused by the stand merely to say a friendly word and ask her how the day was going.

Her father was studying the postcards she’d painted in the barn throughout the winter and spring. Bobby and Charlie were standing beside him, blocking him from view. Sam had already been introduced to Mary, who was fixing a fragment of foliage behind a rosebud to give to him, when he turned round unexpectedly and found himself face to face with the man she’d first known as Slater Hamilton.

‘Hallo, Sam.’

‘Hallo, James.’

Neither had the slightest doubt about whom the other was, nor was there the slightest awkwardness between them. Rosie did wonder if Granny had been in touch with them both. But what really held her was that slow smile of her father’s, the enthusiasm with which he introduced Bobby and Charlie to ‘Uncle James’ and the way they all stood and talked together before Uncle James had to go back up to his office for the final meeting of his day.

‘There ye are Mary. Back home. An’ I won’t see you till Wednesday.’

Billy drew up at the end of the long lane that ran up to the farm where Mary lived with her family. Rosie watched her go, still wearing her pale pink blouse and her moss green overall, a girl for whom the week in Belfast had been a visit to a different world.

‘My goodness, she’s come on,’ said Billy, as he put the van back in gear. ‘She wouldn’t have said boo to a goose a week ago and I heard her doing Brian’s job the day when he was out for his lunch. An’ doin’ it as well as he would. She’s no dozer, Mary.’

‘There’s more to us girls than meets the eye, Billy,’ she said, teasing him.

‘Well, I foun’ that out when you turned up a year ago.’

They fell silent, weary after such a tremendous effort, the shadows lengthening as they drove along the familiar road. They moved gently down the dip where the big load had got stuck, passed the new garden wall where Mary Braithwaite’s plants were now a mass of bloom. Two miles on Billy turned down the lane to Richhill Station and swung into the yard.

‘That’s you now, Rosie. Enjoy your wee holiday. I’ll see you Wednesday. Have you roses in the back?’

She collected a last armful of roses, fresh yesterday and likely to last four or five days more, and stood waiting as he turned in the yard and drove back out on to the lane. She waved him goodbye and walked slowly towards the open door of the house. Her father’s bicycle was parked in its usual place against the wall of the barn and smoke rose from a fresh fire.

It seemed a long, long way from the night her grandfather had been taken ill and she’d spent the week of his dying getting to know the man she loved and soon would marry.

Sure a good thing’s worth waiting for.

Her grandfather’s words came back to her as his words so often did. She remembered too what her grandmother had said back in the winter when they’d talked about Richard.

Granny had been right. He had been waiting. And Granda was right too. Richard’s waiting had given her time to make a life of her own and at this moment she was quite sure their future together would be all the richer for it.