Nobody's Darling

by Josephine Cox

Genres: Family Life

Synopsis

Nobody's Darling by Josephine Cox, Sunday Times bestselling author, explores worldly success and all it brings as well as all it leaves behind.

'The fact that Josephine Cox brings so much freshness to the plot, and the characters, is an indication of her skills as a storyteller' Birmingham Post

Lizzie Miller worries about her beautiful eldest daughter. A mother shouldn't have favourites, but Ruby wins a special place in Lizzie's heart. Money is short in their little house in Blackburn, and Ruby yearns to give her beloved family a better life. Determined to enjoy the security only wealth can bring, she stifles her feelings for handsome Johnny Ackroyd. Ruby knows he cannot offer her the life she craves. She works as a maid for Mr Banks and his daughter, Cicely.

The two girls hatch a mischievous plan to introduce Ruby to society at a party for the 'gentry' of Blackburn, where Ruby meets Luke Arnold, the dissolute heir to his father's fortunes. Seeing Ruby's dark beauty, he determines to despoil her innocence. When Luke slyly turns his charm on Cicely, Ruby feels compelled to warn her friend of his evil nature. Ruby quickly finds employment in a milliner's shop, and eventually takes over the business. But her worldly success still leaves an emptiness that riches cannot fill, and Ruby learns at last that the love of family and friends is beyond price . . .

Release date: December 23, 2010

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 496

Sample

Seated in the old horse-hair armchair, with the contented bairn sucking at her flat drooping breast, Lizzie had been secretly watching her eldest daughter for these past ten minutes or so. Not for the first time she wondered how someone as plain and unbecoming as herself could ever have given birth to such a perfect and lovely child as Ruby. The girl didn’t take after her, and was unlike any of the other childer. All the same, Lizzie thanked the good Lord for sending her such a precious little parcel. But, oh, wasn’t it shocking how quickly the young ’uns grew up? she asked herself now.

Going on fifteen years old, Ruby was already showing the signs of womanhood. On a Friday night when all the childer were washed in the old tin tub, Lizzie had been astonished at the changes in her daughter’s body; the small budding nipples and the fine dark hairs just poking through above her private parts; the way she seemed suddenly to be losing the awkwardness of a child, and gaining that special grace with which some young women are blessed. With her small shapely figure, the abundant spill of rich brown hair and those magnificent blue-black eyes, it was plain to see that Ruby Miller was set to be a beauty. And, for some reason she couldn’t rightly fathom, Lizzie was fearful for the girl. It was true what they said about there always being at least one child who would cause a mother the greatest worry, because of all her brood – and there were six of them – it was Ruby who gave her the worst sleepless nights.

Surprised and embarrassed, Ruby swung round. ‘Oh, Mam!’ she cried, blushing bright pink as though she’d been caught in the act of thieving. ‘You’ve been peeking at me again.’ Lately it seemed that her mam was always peeking at her.

‘It ain’t surprising that I’m fascinated with yer comical antics, is it, eh?’ Lizzie asked with a chuckle, thinking Ruby looked the grandest little lady in the cast-off clothes which she herself had worn as a young woman; the long flouncing skirt with its deep frilly hem, the cream-coloured shawl with pretty lace workings all round the edge, and a big-brimmed hat decorated with long black feathers above large silk flowers. In that moment, Lizzie realised with a little shock that she hadn’t always been ugly and clumsy. When Ruby’s dad came courting her some eighteen years ago, she had been thin enough for him to encircle her waist with one arm. She was twenty-one then, foolish and full of dreams. Now she was going on forty, with six young ’uns round her arse, and a waist as far round as the gas works at the end of Albert Street. Life hadn’t been easy, what with three childer taken young by the whooping cough, and always a struggle to make ends meet. Yet, for all that, the thought of her husband Ted brought a warm glow to Lizzie’s tired heart. ‘Yer a pretty little thing, our Ruby,’ she said now, ‘an’ yer deserve pretty things.’

Ruby looked thoughtful as she chewed her bottom lip and thought on her mam’s words. Presently she said softly, ‘Dad says you looked lovely when you were young.’

‘Aye, well, yer dad’s a silly ol’ bugger,’ Lizzie laughed. ‘Anyway, he were in love, an’ it’s a known fact that fellas are daft as brushes when they’re in love.’

‘But you did look lovely, didn’t you, Mam?’ Ruby insisted. She couldn’t imagine her dad being ‘daft as a brush’. And anyway, sometimes, when her mam smiled at the babby, Ruby thought how pretty she really was; and when she raised her face for a kiss from Ruby’s dad, Lizzie’s soft hazel-coloured eyes sparkled like jewels. Anybody could see that she had been a good-looking woman, and Ruby wouldn’t have it any other way. ‘I expect you think I’m fancying myself, don’t you?’ she asked, shame washing through her; if her mam had taught her anything, it was that she must never get carried away with grand ideas. Ruby found that very hard because she had so many ‘grand’ ideas, and the greatest of all was that one day, she might somehow be able to give her mam and dad a better life. Day and night, she never lost sight of that dream, although she was careful not to say it out loud to anyone, not even to Johnny Ackroyd.

‘Aw, bless yer heart, it don’t matter if yer fancy yerself in yer mam’s old togs,’ Lizzie told her, carefully shifting the babby from one shrivelled titty to the other. ‘So long as yer don’t forget yer station in life, it don’t hurt to pretend, just a little bit. Only don’t forget what yer mam’s allus told yer.’ She shook her grey head and stared hard at the girl. ‘It don’t do no good to spend yer life dreamin’ for what yer can never have, lass. Wishing for the stars can only end in heartbreak. The plain truth is that when yer born poor, yer meant to end yer days the same way, an’ that’s a fact.’

‘Who says so?’ Try as she might, Ruby had never seen the reason for that.

‘I say so, my girl!’ In the early days, Lizzie had dreamed her own dreams, and had been bitterly disappointed when they came to nothing. She had never revealed her own secret longings, and she never would. But she didn’t want any child of hers to suffer the feeling of being ‘second-best’, in the same way she had. In time Lizzie had come to accept her lot, and now she wanted her young ’uns to do the same. ‘Wanting what you can’t have is a sure way to hating what the good Lord has already seen fit to give you,’ she retorted sharply. She didn’t like putting Ruby down in that way, but she believed it was for the best. There was something about the girl, that strong, deep-down yearning. Such ambitions were dangerous.

‘But I like to dream, Mam,’ Ruby said wistfully. She dropped the hat on to a chair, then slipping out of the garments, sat opposite her mam by the empty firegrate. ‘I don’t think the Good Lord would mind me wishing, ’cause I don’t want him to give me anything for nothing. I’ll work hard, Mam, I promise, and I won’t be bad. All I want is for you and our dad to have lots of nice things, like you deserve.’ She smiled widely. ‘Oh, our mam, wouldn’t it be lovely if the childer could have grand presents of a Christmas, and if our Lottie could have a pretty white shawl like the grocer’s babby?’ She lowered her gaze until it rested on her mam’s face, and the magnificent blue-black eyes were dark and serious. ‘I don’t think it can be wrong, wanting special things for people you love. And I don’t think it’s wrong wanting to live in a house where the rats don’t come in from the brook and run round the young uns’ legs when they’re playing in the yard.’

‘Well, it is wrong!’ Lizzie yelled. ‘And I don’t want to hear you talking like that, d’yer understand? Get rid o’ them fancy bloody ideas, my girl . . . else I’ll have to ask yer dad to knock ’em out of yer.’ Ruby put Lizzie in mind of herself when she was younger, and it frightened her. ‘D’yer hear what I’m saying?’ she insisted. ‘Yer ain’t rich and famous, and yer never will be.’

It took a moment for the girl to answer. In her young heart she was convinced that she was right, but she wouldn’t upset her darling mam, not for all the world, she wouldn’t. ‘I’m sorry, Mam,’ she said, wounded, her gaze falling away to the threadbare mat. There was bitterness in her then, and it tasted nasty. She was angry and hurt. Part of her wanted to promise that she would never again think above her station, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Her dreams were too precious, and the thought that one day she might make them come true was too fierce inside her. Sometimes in the middle of the night, when it was dark and she lay in her chilly bedroom listening to the fidgeting and snoring of the other childer, it was only her dreams that kept hope alive. She couldn’t give them up. They were too much a part of her.

Getting up from the chair, Ruby came to kneel at her mam’s feet, and there was such love in her eyes that it made the woman ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, our mam. I didn’t mean to make you mad at me,’ she said, stretching out her hand to stroke the infant’s sleeping face. There was so much more she could have said, but not now, because the words wouldn’t come easy. She could have said how she hated to see her dad come home from work worn and weary; she could have explained how sad it made her when little Lottie was laid to bed in an old orange box instead of a proper cot. She might have reminded her mam about the ragged clothes that the childer went to school in and how the other kids from better families made fun of them. And what of Mam herself? When was the last time she had had something new to wear? When did she last go out and enjoy herself? Why was there never enough money to buy that dear woman a new frock or a pair of boots? Ruby had thought and thought about all of these things, and it only made her all the more determined. She wanted to speak of it, but she knew it would only hurt her mam all the more so said nothing except: ‘I do love you, Mam.’ She saw Lizzie’s gaze soften, and her young heart was full.

One glance at Ruby’s downcast face had warned Lizzie that she might have been too harsh. No mother should have a favourite, but if she was to tell the truth and shame the devil, Lizzie would have had to admit to herself that her first-born was closer to her than the five that came after – although hell and high water could never drag that admission from her. Lowering the sleeping child to her ample lap, she fastened her blouse and smiled at the girl. ‘Aw, lass,’ she said in a gentler voice, ‘I’m sorry an’ all, ’cause I should never ’ave shouted at yer like that. Yer know I wouldn’t ask yer dad to do any such thing as knock yer about . . . not that he ever would,’ she added with a wry little chuckle. The laughter died away and she was serious again. ‘But I want yer to listen hard to what I’m saying, sweetheart. Dreamin’ and wishing can make yer bitter if yer let them get out of hand. Oh, I expect it don’t do no harm to pretend now and then. But, yer have to know which is pretending and which is real.’ She hoped she was making herself understood.

‘I know what you mean, Mam,’ Ruby assured her. ‘And I do know the difference.’

Lizzie was visibly relieved. ‘That’s all right then,’ she said, ‘just so long as yer know.’ She struggled forward in the chair and waited for Ruby to stand up before placing the child in her outstretched arms. ‘Mek her comfortable, lass,’ she instructed. ‘Then yer can help yer mam get summat on the table afore yer dad comes home from his work.’

Lizzie watched with pride as Ruby pressed the infant close to her, making for the makeshift cot in the corner. Here she laid the child down and fussed about it for a while, tucking its legs beneath the patched eiderdown and stroking its face with tender fingers. There was no doubt that Ruby was very special . . . ‘An old head on young shoulders’ was how her dad described her, and he wasn’t far wrong. Lizzie deeply regretted the harsh scene that had just taken place between her and the lass, and was eager to make amends.

‘Set the table, sweetheart,’ she instructed, ‘then see if yer can round the others up for their teas. Afterwards, yer can fancy yersel’ all yer like.’ She strutted across the floor, mimicking the manner of a fine lady. ‘Oh, la de da!’ she said in a grand voice, clasping the girl to her when they both collapsed with laughter. ‘Only don’t break that there mirror with all yer rouge and finery,’ she warned, ‘’cause it were a present from yer old Irish granmer. I don’t want the ol’ bugger turning in her grave when that mirror cracks from top to bottom at the sight of you in yer old mam’s long begones. We don’t want the divil to come down on us with a sack full o’ bad luck, do we, eh?’ she teased.

‘No. It’s all right, thanks, Mam,’ came the reply. Ruby looked into her mam’s hazel eyes, putting the fear of God in her when she said firmly, ‘Your clothes are lovely, Mam, but they’re not mine. And you needn’t worry about Granmer’s mirror because I’ll put it back in the cupboard where it’ll be safe. The next time I look in it, I’ll be wearing my own finery.’ Realising she had said more than she intended, she promised, ‘I’ll put the clothes back upstairs when Lottie settles.’

‘Aye, you do that, lass,’ Lizzie told her softly. When Ted came home, happen she would persuade him to have a quiet word with his daughter.

‘Isn’t she lovely, our mam?’ Ruby was fascinated with the infant. When her mam had gone into labour with this latest addition to the Miller family, Ruby had been the only one there and so she had seen the whole birth from beginning to end. It was an experience she would not easily forget.

‘Yer all lovely,’ Lizzie retorted. And you most of all, she thought, gazing at the dark brown tumbling hair and the sparkling blue-black eyes that looked on the tiny infant with such wonder. In that moment Lizzie knew instinctively that never again would Ruby dress up in her mam’s old clothes. Never again would she allow others to see her ‘pretending’. It was a sad thing but suddenly she knew that her little girl was gone forever. It was another stage in Ruby’s development, another step towards being a woman.

‘Take the things back upstairs then, and put them in the box where you found ’em,’ Lizzie said. She watched the girl a moment longer; loving her all the more when the child began crying and Ruby’s soft lilting voice sang her back to sleep. It made a very special picture for Lizzie, one that she would cherish ’til the end of her days.

Still singing, Ruby gathered the clothes together and went up the stairs two at a time. In a minute she was running back down, and in another could be heard at the front door, calling out to the childer, ‘Come on, you lot. Mam says you’ve to get washed for your teas.’

Lizzie smiled to herself and shook her head. ‘Kids!’ she moaned. ‘Nowt but trouble.’ Taking a small oval tin from her pocket, she opened the lid and with finger and thumb pinched out a generous helping of the brown snuff, afterwards pushing it up into her nostrils and coughing from the shock. Taking snuff was a weakness of Lizzie’s and she rarely did it in public, although the tell-tale brown signs beneath her nose were an obvious giveaway. ‘By! That’s some strong stuff,’ she spluttered, quickly putting away the tin before the childer should come rushing in through the door.

Glancing at the mantelpiece clock, she was astonished to see that already it was nearly five o’clock. In less than an hour her husband would be home, wanting his tea after a hard day’s work. She hurried into the scullery where she filled the big old black kettle to the brim with water. As usual when she placed it on the gas ring, Lizzie stood well back. The rusty ring had an unnerving habit of spitting and popping the minute a lighted match was put to it. All the same, this was the time of day she loved best; when Ted was on his way home, and soon all the family would sit round the table, cosy in each other’s company. Lizzie smiled at the thought. The sight of her man seated at the head of the table always gave her a rush of pleasure. It was strange how she and Ted could still be so much in love after all these years of ups and downs and so many childer between. A feeling of warmth and contentment spread over her as she went about her work.

But suddenly a strange premonition rippled through her, and somehow she couldn’t seem to settle inside herself. It was a peculiar feeling, an instinct that something awful was waiting to happen; and yet there was no rhyme or reason as to why she should think it, unless it was because of those few hasty words with Ruby just now. ‘Aw, stop worrying about the lass,’ she muttered. ‘Yer daft ol’ bugger, Lizzie Miller! She’ll sort herself out, you see if she don’t.’ Then she launched herself into the business of peeling the onions, and in spite of the burning tears streaming down her face, was soon in a happier mood.

From the higher reaches, the manager oversaw the change of shift, his sharp eyes surveying each man as he passed beneath. When the small balding fellow came within hearing, the manager called out to him, ‘Ted! Ted Miller.’ When the little fellow stopped and looked up, he would have called again, but the roar of the fires below was almost deafening. Instead he made a sign, jerking his thumb backwards to indicate that he wanted Ted to come up to the office. He waited for a nod of acknowledgement before returning to the relative safety of his tiny office. Here he sat down behind the desk and waited.

It wasn’t too long before the polite knock came on the door and Ted Miller poked his face inside. He didn’t say anything, but his thoughts were troubled. It wasn’t a good sign when the manager summoned you to his office; and the fellow was smiling. That alone was disturbing.

‘Come in, Ted,’ the manager urged, sitting on the edge of his seat and trying not to seem too serious. When Ted came in and closed the door behind him, he pointed to the chair opposite. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he said in a kindly voice.

‘No, thanks all the same.’ Ted sensed the other man’s nervousness and it conveyed itself to him. ‘I’ll be more comfortable when I know what’s on your mind. If it’s summat bad, then the sooner you spit it out, the better.’ This last week there had been rumours of a cutback in manpower. Ted prayed he wasn’t here for that particular reason.

The manager looked at Ted. He took up a pen from the desk and began chewing on it, then he got out of the chair and walked round the desk. His face was grim, ‘I’m sorry, Ted.’ He shook his head slowly and dropped his gaze to his feet.

Ted’s heart sank but he found himself smiling, because if he didn’t smile he might show his deeper emotions. ‘So, the rumours were true?’ he asked, and his voice shook. The other man looked up. His expression was answer enough. ‘Why me?’

‘Not just you, Ted. You’re only the first.’

‘I’ve not been singled out then?’ He needed to know that. He wanted reassurance that he wasn’t being finished because he was too old, or too clumsy, or not pulling his weight.

‘You’re a good worker, Ted. Like I say . . . there’ll be others soon enough. It’s a higher decision to cut the workforce.’ He wasn’t lying, but neither was he telling the whole truth. He had long been envious of Ted Miller’s standing with the men, and an incident when Ted had undoubtedly saved a man’s life had been more than he could stomach. There wasn’t a man here who didn’t believe Ted should have been promoted long ago, and there was a deal of bitterness when it failed to happen although Ted himself was content enough. The truth was, Ted Miller was one of the best men in the foundry; a reliable, conscientious man who knew this work better than any of them. The manager was a jealous insecure soul who saw Ted as his enemy, so, when the moment came, he availed himself of the opportunity to be rid of him once and for all. It wasn’t hard to convince them who mattered that Ted spelt trouble. It was easy. Too easy. But then there were other things at stake here.

Even as the truth of the matter was running through the devious manager’s mind, Ted was voicing his own suspicions. ‘I hope you’re being square with me, matey,’ he said. ‘Me being finished here – it wouldn’t have anything to do with that business a while back, would it?’ Anger rose in him. ‘If I thought the bastards were putting me out for that, I swear to God I’d fight ’em tooth and nail.’ He breathed in hard and held his head high. Presently he said in a gruff voice, ‘They were in the wrong and the buggers know it. You know that upper platform wants shoring up. All the men know it! Jacob Darnley could have gone the same way as them two poor sods a while back if I hadn’t been there to grab his shirt-tail.’

‘I know what you’re saying, Ted.’ The manager felt they were skating on dangerous ground here. Ted was right. When that platform swayed, his colleague could so easily have gone to a fiery grave. From his vantage point, the manager had seen the whole thing. Afterwards, he saw how Ted Miller was held in respect by the men, saw how they looked up to him, how they hung on his every word, and his jealousy was like a canker eating away at him. When Ted made a formal complaint with regard to the condition of the platforms, the foreman duly relayed it to a higher authority. He also pointed out in graphic terms how such a man as Ted was a potential trouble-maker who should be watched very carefully. All this was reported to Oliver Arnold and the inevitable order was given; that Ted Miller must be discreetly removed at the first opportunity. The same applied to other men, real mischief-makers, and so the rumours were deliberately started soon after, implying that lower demand and higher competition might soon force a cut in manpower.

‘Look, Ted. As far as I know, the owner took kindly to your suggestions regarding the rickety platform. I’m assured they’ve got all safety matters under review. This business of cutting the workforce – well, that’s a different matter altogether. Like I say, you won’t be the only one to go.’ He sighed and looked suitably sorry for himself. ‘Who knows . . . I might be next in line!’

‘It’s a lousy business all the same,’ Ted replied in a serious voice. ‘What’s to be done about it?’

‘Nothing. I only wish to God there was. Confidentially, Ted, orders have been dropping off for some time,’ the manager lied. ‘There’s still plenty of work in the mills though. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting fixed up there.’

When Ted gave no answer but stared stonily ahead, he went to his desk and took out a long brown envelope from the top drawer. ‘I really am sorry,’ he said lamely, handing the envelope over. ‘Best take this and be on your way, eh?’ For one brief moment he hated himself, but then he remembered how it would only have been a matter of time before Ted was noticed as supervisor material by the management, happen even by Arnold himself. He had his own position to think of, and if Ted was put up for promotion, it wouldn’t be too long then before he was looking to the foreman’s job. And then who knows what he might find out? No, he couldn’t take no chances. Besides, he told himself, Ted would find work. He wasn’t a man to be out of work for long. All the same, he felt a burning shame at what he’d done. Ted Miller was no trouble-maker. He was a decent man, justifiably concerned about the well-being of his fellow-workers. ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said again. The hair stood up on the back of his neck when he recalled what Ted had said just now. ‘I swear to God I’d fight the buggers tooth and nail!’ Aye, and happen he’d break the manager’s jaw an’ all, if he was to learn that the cowardly fellow was lying about the reason for Ted being finished here at the foundry.

‘Away home to your missus, Ted,’ the manager urged now. ‘You’ll need to break the news to her, won’t you, eh?’ Lizzie Miller was a stout woman in more ways than one, and both men knew that she would be a source of strength in any crisis.

Without another word, Ted walked away, the envelope clutched tightly in his closed fist. The manager watched him go along the gangway and down the steps that would lead him to the outer doors. In all the years he’d known Ted Miller, he had never seen his narrow shoulders so bowed, nor his step so heavy. ‘I pray to God you’ll never find out what I’ve done this day,’ he murmured fearfully, shaking his head and returning to his duties. Even now, he wondered at his own despicable action in bringing Ted to the notice of Oliver Arnold, a strong character who had built an empire from the smaller legacy left by his father. It was never wise to cross such a man, and with this in mind the manager bent his head to the communication he had received some days ago. With a heavy heart, he took up his pen and carefully ringed round the names of four other men. Unlike Ted Miller, each of these men was known to have made trouble in one way or another.

‘How do, Ted?’ Len Taylor’s familiar voice sailed across the road, bringing Ted out of his deep reverie. ‘A bit off the beaten track, ain’t yer, matey?’ He laughed, a loud raucous sound that grated on the ear. ‘Fisher Street’s that way, yer silly ol’ bugger,’ he said jovially, pointing in the opposite direction. ‘Your Lizzie thrown yer out, has she?’ he laughed again, and Ted turned away with a wry little smile. The cabbie shrugged his shoulders and climbed up into his carriage. As a rule, Ted Miller would have stopped and chatted. Not today though. Today, he seemed a million miles away.

Coming out of Lodge Street, Ted stopped to lean against the lamp on the corner. ‘What do we do now, eh?’ he asked, looking up to Heaven as though for guidance. When none was forthcoming, he took his pipe from the pocket of his jacket and a wad of baccy from his waistcoat. The very act of packing the baccy into the wooden bowl was soothing to him, but he didn’t reach for the matches to light it. Instead, his attention was caught by the huge sprawling building before him. Like a man entranced, he gazed at it.

Brookhouse Mills made a daunting and magnificent sight. Like a monstrous stone cake, its grime-covered tiles were the chocolate icing and the long cylindrical chimneys were gigantic candles. The out-pouring smoke snaked through the sky, making weird dark patterns against the bright sunlight which in their very ugliness appeared uniquely beautiful. Through the many long narrow windows he could see the upward-reaching iron struts and heavy machinery, could hear the awesome noise from within where the men, women and children scurried about like insignificant ants flitting in and out of the looms, all intent on one thing: survival. They might have their dreams, in their heart of hearts they might aspire to greater things, but they knew their limitations and so for now, it was enough for them to survive. ‘That’s all any of us want,’ Ted murmured, ‘just to survive.’

The image of his eldest child came into his mind and his face broke into a grin. Ruby was unlike any of his other children, a little woman who wanted to take on the world. Merely ‘surviving’ would never be enough for her, he thought proudly. And he couldn’t understand why that bothered Lizzie so much. ‘Wanting more is always a road to heartache,’ she claimed, but to tell the truth, he’d wanted more all his life. It hadn’t broken his heart, yet it hadn’t brought him a fortune either, he admitted wistfully.

He looked again at the building across the road, then stared up at the calm evening sky. June was always a lovely month. In that moment Ted felt oddly at peace with himself; beneath that blue uncluttered sky, the fumes and hellfire of the foundry seemed a million miles away. Happen his sacking was a blessing in disguise, he told himself. And there was hope. There was always hope. ‘The Lord helps them as helps themselves, ain’t that right?’ he whispered, his eyes upturned to the sky as though they might suddenly see something else there, someone else, gazing back at him. Suddenly he felt ashamed. What was he doing, standing on a street corner, feeling sorry for himself? Shaking his head, he muttered, ‘Get yerself off home to your family, Ted Miller. Arnold’s Foundry ain’t the only place of work round these parts. You mustn’t let the buggers beat you. You ain’t finished while you’ve got two arms and a strong back, and never forget that!’

He thought of Lizzie and his face lit up. He could see her now, cursing him up hill and down dale for not being home on time. But then another thought suddenly occurred to him and his back stiffened against the lamp post. ‘Bugger it!’ Lizzie was bound to think the worst when he didn’t come home as usual. In his dilemma, he hadn’t given that a thought, but now he was frantic. Thrusting his pipe and baccy into the pocket of his jacket, he went on his way home with renewed vigour, half walking, half running, his mind assailed by all manner of things: his work at the foundry, Brookhouse Mills and all the other mills around here that were going full strength. The foreman was right. There was other work to be had. He couldn’t do anything about it at this time of night, but first thing in the morning he’d be out there looking for work, and today would be just a bad memory.

Ted Miller’s heart was a good deal lighter as he hurried down Lodge Street, along Whalley New Road and into Fisher Street, wending his way between roaming dogs, boisterous children rolling hoops along the cobbles, and grown-ups standing in little groups, where they busily swapped tittle-tattle and set the world to rights. He had been so steeped in his own troubles, he hadn’t noticed them before. Now, though, they exchanged greetings as he hurried on his way.

‘No, it hasn’t.’ Ruby told her firmly. ‘Happen they’ve asked him to do some overtime and he couldn’t let you know,’ she suggested. ‘Or the tram was late. It’ll be something like that, you’ll see, so don’t go getting yourself worked up all over nothing, our mam.’ She didn’t tell Lizzie how she too was worried to the pit of her stomach. Every night since as long as she c