Wait For the Dawn by Jess Foley Page B

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    Suddenly her words stopped, for her swinging left hand had caught the lamp a heavy blow, rocking it on its base, and sending the sound of an impact on the glass shade ringing out in the room. All laughter was forgotten in thespace of the time it took for the inhabitants to gasp aloud, and all three of them turned their eyes to the lamp, Ryllis, clutching the cotton fabric to her cheek, giving a little cry and saying, ‘It’s broken!’
    Lydia stood gazing at the lamp as if mesmerised. The same expression of horror was on Mrs Halley’s face as she sat close to the lamp, one hand at her mouth. The lamp’s shade was cracked from top to bottom, and it was a wonder to Lydia that it had remained in one piece.
    Silence reigned in the room, silence touched only by the sounds of their breathing.
    At last Lydia said, her voice almost a whisper, ‘Perhaps Father won’t notice it.’
    ‘How could he miss it?’ said Ryllis. ‘Anyone’d be bound to see that.’
    ‘We’ll get another one,’ Mrs Halley said.
    ‘That’s all very well,’ Ryllis said, ‘but tomorrow’s Sunday. We can’t get to a shop before Monday. What do I do in the meantime?’
    Lydia and Ryllis were side by side in their bed. Neither was sleeping. Lydia, lying on her side, could feel the tension emanating from Ryllis’s body just a foot away. They had barely spoken since getting into bed some twenty minutes before. As they lay there they heard the church clock strike ten and Lydia silently counted off the strokes. Both of them were listening.
    Then, at last, there came the sound of footsteps on the cobbles beneath their window. Lydia tensed even more, lying almost rigid on the mattress, and though no whisper passed between them, she knew that Ryllis was doing the same. Lydia drew in her breath, listening even more intently. Their father had returned home.
    Downstairs in the kitchen Mrs Halley also heard the sound of Mr Halley’s boots in the yard, and applied herselfonce more to her sewing. The damaged lamp, its flame turned out, had been put on the side, and the room was lit by a smaller lamp that sat on a small table at her elbow. With the broken lamp not in plain view it was hoped that Mr Halley would not notice the damage. Then, on Monday, Lydia could buy a new shade when she went into Merinville – one that matched, if possible.
    There came the sound of the back door opening, footsteps across the flags, and then Mr Halley came up the step from the scullery and entered the kitchen. Mrs Halley could see at once from the set of his mouth, from the way he moved his tense body, that things had not gone well for him. Nevertheless she felt bound to ask, ‘How did it go, Father? Did you meet the gentleman you set out to see?’
    He took off his hat as he spoke, and threw it down almost violently on to the shelf beside his chair. ‘It didn’t go well at all,’ he said shortly, ‘and as for that imbecile Winsford – he still wasn’t anywhere in evidence by the time I returned. I had to wait a further half hour before he got in. Then it turns out that the hall isn’t available after all on Monday.’ He drew back his lips over his teeth. ‘It meant the whole journey was for nothing.’ He looked up towards the ceiling. ‘Are the girls upstairs?’
    ‘Yes, they are.’
    He pulled out his chair at the head of the table and sat down. Then he bent and began to untie the laces of his boots. At once Mrs Halley got up and started towards him. ‘Here – let me do it.’
    He straightened, and she came to him and crouched and untied his boots and eased them off.
    ‘I started a blister on my heel,’ he said. ‘That walking, that wasted effort.’
    ‘Oh, dear. You want to bathe your foot?’
    ‘No, I’ll just rest it. It’ll be all right.’
    ‘It’ll be no trouble. I’ll put the kettle on.’
    ‘I just told you, it’ll be all right.’
    She nodded. ‘I’ll get your slippers.’
    A minute later his slippers were on his feet.
    ‘Is