'It will be a dreadful burden.'
'I'll help!' Glenda was shocked at the speed of her response and then mumbled, 'I'll help.'
The coals in the forge crackled as they settled down. Fires in a busy forge seldom die out completely. After a while, Glenda said, 'You wrote that poem for Trev, didn't you?'
'Yes, Miss Glenda. I hope she liked it.'
Glenda thought she'd better raise this carefully. 'I think I ought to tell you that she didn't understand a lot of the words exactly. I sort of had to translate it for her.' It hadn't been too difficult, she reckoned. Most love poems were pretty much the same under the curly writing.
'Did you like it?' said Nutt.
'It was a wonderful poem,' said Glenda.
'I wrote it for you,' said Nutt. He was looking at her with an expression that stirred together fear and defiance in equal measure.
The cooling embers brightened up at this. After all, a forge has a soul. As if they had been waiting there, the responses lined themselves up in front of Glenda's tongue. Whatever you do next is going to be very important, she told herself. Really, extremely, very important. Don't start wondering about what Mary the bloody housemaid would do in one of those cheap novels you read, because Mary was made up by someone with a name suspiciously like an anagram for people like you. She is not real and you are.
'We had better get on the coach,' said Nutt, picking up his box.
Glenda gave up on the thinking and burst into tears. It has to be said that they were not the gentle tears they would have been from Mary the housemaid, but the really big long-drawn-out blobby ones you get from someone who very rarely cries. They were gummy, with a hint of snot in there as well. But they were real. Mary the housemaid would just not have been able to match them.
So, of course, it will be just like Trev Likely to turn up out of the shadows and say, 'They're calling the coach now - Are you two all right?'
Nutt looked at Glenda. Tears aren't readily retractable, but she managed to balance a smile on them. 'I believe this to be the case,' said Nutt.
Travelling on a fast coach, on even a mild autumn night, those passengers on the roof experience the temperature that can freeze doorknobs. There are leather covers and rugs of various age, thickness and smell. Survival is only possible by wrapping yourself in the biggest cocoon you can achieve, preferably with somebody else next to you; two people can heat up faster than one. In theory, all of this could lead to hanky panky, but the seats of the coach and the rockiness of the road mean that such things are not uppermost in the traveller's mind, which dreams longingly of cushions. Furthermore, there was a fine rain now.
Juliet craned her head to look at the seats behind, but there were just the mounds of damp rugs that were the coach company's answer to the cold night air. 'You don't think they're sweet on each other, do you?' she said.
Trev, who was himself cocooned in rugs, only managed a grunt, but then went on, 'I think 'e admires her. He always seems a bit tongue-tied when 'e's near her, that's all I know.'
This had to be a romance, Glenda thought. It wasn't like the ones peddled every week by Iradne Comb-Buttworthy. It felt more real¨Cmore real and very, very strange. ;How long will it take to get there?'
'Well, this is the late-night bus, okay? It's for people who've got to be in Sto Lat early and haven't got much money, and there's the rub, see? The less the money, the slower the travel. We get there in the end. Somewhere around about dawn, in fact.'
'All night? I think I could walk it faster.'
The man had the quiet, friendly air about him of someone who had found the best way to get through life was never to give much of a stuff about anything. 'Be my guest,' he said. 'I'll wave to you as we go past.'
Glenda looked down the length of the coach. It was half full of the kind of people who took the overnight bus because it wasn't very expensive; the kind of people, in fact, who had brought their own dinner in a paper bag, and probably not a new paper bag at that.
The three of them huddled. 'It's the only one we can afford,' said Trev. 'I don't think we can even afford travel for one on the mail coaches.'
'Can't we try and bargain with him?' said Glenda.
'Good idea,' said Trev. He walked back to the coach.
'Hello again,' said the driver.
'When are you gonna leave?' said Trev.
'In about five minutes.'
'So everyone who's gonna be riding is on the coach.'
Glenda glanced past the driver. The passenger behind him was very meticulously peeling a hardboiled egg.
'Could be,' said the driver.