The Women of Waterloo Bridge by Jan Casey

Author:Jan Casey [Casey, Jan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838930738
Publisher: Head of Zeus

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A thumbs-up from Alice. Joan pulled the brake in the cab and watched as the planks were released and set down ready for collection. Alice was talking to a couple of women who hovered nearby, lining up lengths of wood. She gesticulated a lot when she talked; perhaps that was why her communications with Joan from below the crane were so accurate – or had the need to talk with her hands for work become part of her essence? Surely everything one experienced changed one in some way, she reasoned with herself. When Alice had first realised Joan was involved with Cyril and his black marketeering, she’d told Joan what she’d thought of her. ‘I didn’t see it at first,’ she’d hurled at her, as if she felt personally betrayed. ‘I thoughts you were ever so nice. But you’re sly, sneaky and underhand.’

When Joan thought about it, she could see that she might be everything Alice indicted her for, but she could not agree that Cyril or his cheap little business were the causes of her shifty deviousness. That had started a long time ago, with Mother.

One of the women said something that made Alice laugh, her wide smile pushing her cheeks up under her eyes. How lovely to be Alice, Joan thought. Natural, honest, open: a new score of music waiting to be played. No one gossiped about Alice, because there was nothing to blather about. How could anyone find fault with her easy manner, her wonder at whatever she saw, her enthusiasm and energy? Some of the others loved to rib her about her dialect, but it wasn’t vindictive and had ingrained itself into the everyday workings of the bridge. Most days, impressions of her Bristolian burr could be heard in passing from workers they hardly knew. Blushing in general had also been attributed to Alice. Whenever anyone reddened out of bashfulness or embarrassment, they were asked if they’d changed their name to Alice.

A hand signal that the crane should be lifted. Another to say the way was clear for grabbing a load of timber. It was a relief that when she was working the controls in the cab, she could not allow herself to think of anything else. When the arm was at its apex, she pulled the lever and raised the hook gracefully, like an inverted question mark, towards the next waiting load. Pedestrians were using the far side of the roadway now and Joan could see them on her periphery, through the windscreen wipers, heads down, hurrying with purpose across the river.

Alice stopped her with the flat of her palm and shifted the lengths of wood onto the hook. She checked the rope for strength and, when she was satisfied, motioned for Joan to lift. Three more loads followed until Alice chopped the air with her hand: break time. They worked well together. When Joan looked back, she felt ashamed to remember that when she’d first met Alice, she thought her no more than a yokel.

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