Scarlet Ribbons

by Emma Blair

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

Sadie Smith, born with a degenerative hip, is unable to walk. Sent to a Dr Barnardo's home for treatment, she is so excited that she fails to realise she will never see her beloved family again. In 1927, once fully cured, Sadie is offered the opportunity of a lifetime; to start a new life in Canada. But when she arrives at the Trikhardts' farm in the heart of Ontario, her new life seems far from perfect. Worked from dawn to dusk, she treasures the scarlet ribbons her mother gave her and seeks solace in her friendship with fellow orphan, cheeky-faced Robbie. A freak hurricane finally provides Sadie with a lucky escape. From Canadian parlour maid to pilot in Britain's Air Transport Auxillary, from office clerk to managing director, Sadie has to draw on her courage and strength in a determined struggle to find the lasting happiness that had eluded her as a child. Praise for Emma Blair: 'An engaging novel and the characters are endearing - a good holiday read' Historical Novels Review 'All the tragedy and passion you could hope for . . . Brilliant' The Bookseller 'Romantic fiction pure and simple and the best sort - direct, warm and hugely readable. Women's fiction at an excellent level' Publishing News 'Emma Blair explores the complex and difficult nature of human emotions in this passionately written novel' Edinburgh Evening News 'Entertaining romantic fiction' Historical Novels Review '[Emma Blair] is well worth recommending' The Bookseller

Release date: November 24, 2016

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 576

Sample

Sadie Smith was four years old and what she wanted more than anything else in the world was to be like other children. It was something she often cried about.

Right now she was sitting on an easy chair by the fireplace watching her mother make breakfast. Louise’s face was lined with worry, and drawn from lack of sleep. In the kitchen’s cavity bed Ken Smith lay gasping and wheezing, desperately fighting to draw air into his badly dust-coated lungs, that had weakened through years spent down the pit.

Suddenly Ken gave a particularly long drawn-out wheeze that rattled at the back of his throat like a couple of old tin cans. Louise, eyes filled with love and concern, paused in what she was doing to glance over at him.

‘I’m starving, Ma,’ Ian complained, plonking himself down at the table. But that was nothing new, she’d realized years ago that her son had ‘hollow’ legs.

‘Won’t be long,’ Louise replied, and continued buttering the toast.

Morag appeared from the other room pulling up her knickers and yawning. The Smiths had seven children; Sadie was the youngest and Morag next to her, while young Ken, the oldest, was thirteen, and was already out of school and working.

‘Your father had another attack last night so don’t make too much noise,’ Louise said.

Morag’s eyes glanced over at her father. She would usually have run over and kissed him except she hated it when he was like this. It scared her.

Ken groaned, strange shapes dancing and weaving in front of him. He was aware he was partially delirious.

Louise swept a wisp of hair away from her face. God, she was tired. It had been a terrible night, Ken’s latest attack which had gripped him shortly after they’d gone to bed had been worse than usual.

This would mean another few weeks off work, she thought grimly, perhaps even a month. It was taking him longer and longer to get over these attacks and during that time there was no money coming in other than the pittance young Ken earned and what the Union gave them.

She sighed inwardly. It was hard enough making ends meet at the best of times, but when Ken was off work the whole thing became a nightmare.

The kettle began to sing.

‘Can I make the tea, Ma?’ Lena asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway. Lena had bright ginger hair, the only one with such distinctive colouring. According to Ken she got it from his Great-Aunt Isa who’d been a cat fanatic and died when he was a little boy.

‘Thank you, lass,’ Louise replied. Then, as an after-thought, she said: ‘Don’t be too generous with the caddy. Your Da’s had another attack.’

Lena knew only too well what that meant, short rations all round. Consequently she only put half the usual number of teaspoons into the pot. She would just let it steep longer and hope to bring it up to strength that way.

‘How are you this morning?’ Bill asked Sadie, hauling down a jersey that had seen better days. Sadie was the only one who slept in the kitchen with their parents, her brothers and sisters sharing a pair of double beds in the other room.

Sadie nodded, smiling at Bill. He was her favourite brother because he spent a lot of time with her. The others did too, but Bill was special.

He yawned and stretched himself. ‘School!’ he complained, and pulled a face.

Sadie laughed. She would have loved to have gone to school, but knew she never would. School was for children who could walk, which she couldn’t, because she’d been born with a degenerated hip which meant she could only crawl and flop around the place. There would never be school for her.

Tom and young Ken came into the room, completing the family. ‘Da bad again?’ young Ken queried softly, studying his father in bed.

‘Another attack,’ Louise confirmed, placing buttered toast on the table. There wasn’t any jam or marmalade. Those treats, when available, were reserved strictly for Sundays.

Young Ken went over to his father and stared at his sweat-beaded face. ‘Not so well again, Da?’ he said in a cheerful tone.

Ken swallowed and then tried to reply. His words emerged as a mumbled hiss.

‘I’m going straight to the doctor after I’ve got you lot packed off out the door,’ Louise said to young Ken whom, because of his age, she felt she could talk to more or less like an adult.

Young Ken nodded. ‘Not to worry, Da, you’ll soon be on your feet again and back down the pit.’ It was a great relief to him that he’d managed to find a job in a factory. The work was hard, the conditions appalling, but at least he was above ground and breathing relatively clean air, unlike his da.

‘Come on then,’ said Bill and Tom, lifting Sadie up. Between them they carried her over to the table and sat her on one of the hard wooden chairs surrounding it.

Louise wondered if Ken could manage a cup of tea. He hadn’t drunk the water she’d attempted to give him during the night.

‘Ken?’ she whispered, laying a hand on his stubbly cheek.

His answer was a wheeze that seemed to come from the very depths of his being. His fever hot eyes, she realized, weren’t staring at her, but out into their own distant world.

Louise bit her lower lip. A month before he returned to work? It could even be longer. If only she could take on a part-time job, but how could she with Sadie to look after?

She glanced over at her youngest child. How serious the wee thing looked, but how could she blame the lass for that?

While the others tucked into tea and toast, she took a clean towel from a cupboard and wiped Ken’s face. She needn’t have bothered, his face was heavily beaded again within seconds.

She’d leave the washing-up till later, she decided. The quicker she got to the doctor the better.

‘Aren’t you having anything to eat, Ma?’ Lena asked.

Ian was immediately alert, this could possibly mean another slice for him.

Louise shook her head. ‘I’ve no appetite whatsoever. A swallow of tea will do me.’

Ian’s hand leapt out to grab one of the remaining slices of toast which was swiftly transferred to his plate.

‘Gannet,’ Tom admonished.

Ian grinned. They could call him what they liked, he didn’t care. He was determined to be a chef when he grew up. It must be sheer heaven to be continually surrounded by food. His mouth watered at the prospect.

‘What about you, Sadie, would you like another slice?’ Bill queried.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Are you sure now?’ he persisted.

‘I will if she . . .’ Ian started to say, his mouth full. He hastily shut up when Ken shot him a warning look. In the end Morag got the other slice going begging.

Young Ken left the house first, giving Louise a peck on the cheek and his father a word of encouragement before clattering down the stairs.

Louise kissed her five children as they left for school. The school building was fairly close, so they didn’t have much of a walk.

‘Will you be all right, love?’ she asked Ken when they were finally alone. When he didn’t reply she decided to ask Mrs Crerar next door to pop in and keep an eye on him. She wouldn’t be away for long.

‘Right then,’ she said to Sadie, as she picked her up. ‘You’re not getting any lighter, that’s for certain,’ she teased.

‘I’m only thin,’ Sadie answered in a tone that brought a lump to Louise’s throat.

‘Of course you are, darling. I was only joking.’

Sadie crooked an arm round her mother’s neck knowing that made it easier for Louise to carry her. ‘I’ve never seen Da sweat during an attack before,’ she said.

‘Neither have I, and that’s what’s worrying me.’

‘Louise!’ The voice was a cracked whisper.

She hurried over to find Ken back in this world rather than wherever it was he’d been. His eyes were still anguished while his chest continued to heave.

‘I’m going for the doctor,’ she explained.

‘Can’t . . .’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Can’t afford . . .’

‘Bugger that, we’ll just have to. I’ve never seen you so bad. And you’re sweating as if you’ve got the flu.’

‘Feel awful,’ he gasped.

And you look it, she thought. ‘Is there anything I can get you before I go?’

The strange shapes were back again, dancing, weaving shapes that were extraordinary colours. They were totally mesmerizing.

He wheezed again before managing a reply. ‘Nothing.’

‘I’m away then.’

‘Goodbye, Da,’ Sadie said from her mother’s arms.

Ken glanced at her, tried to smile, but broke out coughing instead, and then thumped the bed impotently with his clenched left fist.

Downstairs, having spoken with Mrs Crerar en route, Louise went into the back court where the pram was kept chained to a railing. She sat Sadie in the pram and covered her lower half with a small blanket.

Sadie held on to the sides as Louise bumped the pram through the close out into the street. Usually her mother chatted with her, but not today; today Louise’s lips remained tightly shut as they headed very fast for the doctor’s surgery.

Sadie watched enviously as the children, all under school age, played peever on the pavement. It was the local game known elsewhere as hopscotch.

A girl bent and expertly slid a stone along the ground into the chalked-out box she was aiming for. Then she straightened up and hopped forward.

What was it like to hop? Sadie wondered. Or to walk, run or dance? She gazed down wistfully at her own legs, one that was totally useless and the other that had only a little strength, and she felt heartily sorry for herself.

She would never be able to walk, would always be different, always a cripple. A cripple! Every time she heard that word it was as if a red hot dagger had been plunged into her heart.

The girl playing peever cried out joyously at completing some particularly complicated manoeuvre and leapt high into the air. On landing she whirled round, arms outstretched.

Sadie dropped her head, unable to look any longer. She hoped her mother would hurry up. She wanted to be taken away from there.

It didn’t matter where, just away.

* * *

‘You were certainly right to call me in, this is different from his previous attacks,’ Dr McLeod declared, staring at Ken.

‘He’s never sweated before, or gone away in his mind,’ Louise clasped her hands. ‘It seems to me to be more than the dust.’

It was certainly more than that, McLeod thought. But what? ‘I’ll wash my hands before examining him.’

McLeod washed his hands with soap, then carefully dried them on the clean towel Louise gave him. Every so often, clearly deep in thought, he glanced across at Ken.

‘Now then,’ McLeod said as he unbuttoned Ken’s pyjama top. His forehead creased into a speculative frown as he stared at Ken’s heaving chest.

‘Hmmh!’ he muttered, and then pulled the bedclothes back to expose Ken’s entire right side. He felt first Ken’s buttock, then leg, while Louise and Sadie gazed anxiously on.

‘He’s lost quite a bit of weight since I saw him last,’ McLeod said slowly.

‘Has he?’ Louise looked again at Ken. ‘I suppose he has. I can’t say I’d noticed.’

‘You sometimes don’t when it’s gradual.’

‘I have,’ Ken agreed.

‘Any idea how much?’

‘Enough for me to have to tighten my belt by a couple of notches.’

‘You never mentioned,’ Louise admonished him sharply, betraying her anxiety.

Ken opened his mouth to answer, but what emerged was a ghastly, wracking wheeze. His fist pounded the bed as he fought for breath.

‘Jesus!’ he gasped at last.

‘Don’t talk for now,’ McLeod instructed, perching beside him. He listened to Ken’s heaving chest with his stethoscope. McLeod gave Ken a thorough examination, during which his brows were furrowed in concentration.

Finally McLeod sat up straight and sighed. Going over to his bag he rolled up his stethoscope and replaced it, then took out a small bottle and removed its cap.

‘I want a sample of your sputum for tests, Ken,’ he said, going back to the bed.

‘Sputum?’ Ken queried.

‘Spit, man. Your spit.’

‘Oh!’ Ken exclaimed, and attempted to lever himself into a sitting position, which he finally managed with McLeod’s assistance.

When McLeod had enough of Ken’s sputum, Louise helped him lie down again, and tucked in his bedclothes.

‘It is more than the dust, isn’t it?’ Louise said to McLeod after she’d finished fussing over Ken.

‘It seems so,’ McLeod replied.

‘I thought . . . well, it crossed my mind that it might be the flu?’ Louise went on nervously.

McLeod gave her a sideways glance. He was already fairly certain what was wrong with Ken Smith, the blood flecks in Ken’s sputum corroborating his theory, but he wouldn’t commit himself until he’d had the sputum tested.

‘It isn’t that,’ he told her.

‘Then what?’

‘Anything I said now would just be a guess,’ he prevaricated. ‘However I’m sure the results of the tests will provide the answer.’

She nodded, suddenly feeling far older than her thirty-two years. It was the tiredness doing that to her, she told herself, wiping away a lock of hair that had fallen across her face.

McLeod placed a cardboard box containing two pills on the table, then clicked his bag shut. ‘Give those to Ken directly I’ve gone. They’re the usual sedative.’

Louise nodded. She knew these pills well because the doctor always gave them to Ken when he was undergoing an attack.

‘How long do you think till he’s up and about again?’ she asked.

‘I really can’t say until I’ve had the results back,’ McLeod demurred.

That was the answer Louise had expected, but had felt compelled to ask the question anyway. ‘I understand,’ she murmured.

‘Now if you don’t mind I’d like to wash my hands again.’

‘Certainly.’

When he’d done that McLeod took his leave, saying he’d be in touch just as soon as he had any news.

The pills worked as they always did. Within a little while Ken’s breathing was more or less back to normal and his chest had stopped heaving.

Shortly after the children returned from school the dancing, weaving shapes reappeared. Thereafter Ken sweated so much Louise had to change the bed linen twice before joining him in bed later that night.

Sadie eased herself off the chair and on to the linoleumed floor. She then began to crawl purposefully, dragging her legs behind her.

‘What do you want, Sadie?’ Mrs Logie from the top landing asked. This was the first time she’d baby-sat for them. Usually Mrs Crerar or Mrs Matchett would have kept an eye on them, but they were both out that evening at an Eastern Star meeting.

‘My dolly,’ Sadie replied.

‘I’ll get it for you,’ Mrs Logie declared, jumping to her feet.

Sadie stopped and twisted round so that she could look at Mrs Logie. ‘I’ll get it myself.’

‘It’s no trouble, lamb, honest.’

‘I said I’ll get it myself,’ Sadie persisted, stubborn determination in her voice.

Mrs Logie stopped in her tracks, confused. ‘It isn’t a bother for me.’

Bill glanced up from where he was playing soldiers with Tom. ‘Sadie prefers to do things for herself. That’s her way,’ he explained.

‘She gets about fine. She’s just slow that’s all,’ Morag added.

‘I see,’ Mrs Logie said, nodding.

Sadie resumed crawling, a painful business but one she was well used to by now. Her doll was in the other room where she’d left it several days previously. It would have been far simpler to have asked one of the others to get it for her, but as Bill had said, that wasn’t her way.

Mrs Logie watched Sadie vanish out of the kitchen door, and, silently, thanked God that all her three had been born perfect. How she felt for the lass. What a dreadful prospect to go through life like that.

You had to admire her though, Mrs Logie thought as Sadie came sliding back into the room holding her doll. Oh aye, you had to do that.

Mrs Logie glanced at the clock above the range. It would be a while yet before Louise Smith was home from the doctor’s. She decided to put the kettle on.

‘Come in, Louise! Sit down,’ Dr McLeod said, rising from behind his desk.

‘I received your card and here I am,’ Louise replied nervously.

‘I thought it best if I spoke to you here rather than at the house,’ he told her, ushering her to a chair.

‘You’ve had the results of Ken’s tests then?’

He sat again in his own chair and stared her straight in the eye. ‘I have. And it isn’t good news, I’m afraid.’

She found herself holding her breath waiting for him to go on.

‘There is a complication that has been causing the deliriousness, but now it’s been identified I can soon clear it up. No, it’s the other thing that’s important.’

He paused, then continued gravely. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that over and above his pneumoconiosis, Ken has contracted pulmonary tuberculosis. Consumption, as you probably know it.’

‘Consumption!’ she gasped, the breath rushing out of her.

‘I’m afraid so.’

Consumption! Her mind reeled at the thought. ‘There must be a mistake . . .’

‘There’s no mistake, Louise,’ McLeod cut in gently.

She swallowed, and swallowed again. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but not this. Consumption on top of the dust, it just wasn’t fair! She felt her eyes mist over, tears only a blink away.

‘Would you like a glass of water?’ McLeod asked.

She shook her head.

‘His job at the pit,’ she mumbled, desperately trying to put her thoughts in order.

‘That’s all over for Ken now. He’ll never work again.’

Never work again! Those words made her physically cringe. If Ken was never to work again what was to happen to them and to their babies!

‘I think it best you know the plain facts, Louise. The dust would have killed Ken in the long run, now that he’s also got pulmonary tuberculosis the time factor has been severely shortened.’

The tears coursed down her face despite her efforts to keep them at bay. ‘How . . . how long?’

‘That’s difficult to say, Louise. Six months, a year at the outside.’

She shook her head in disbelief. Of course she’d known that Ken would eventually die of the dust, but somehow that had been far off, well into the future. Now they had so little time left together, a year at the outside McLeod said.

‘This has all happened so sudden, so quickly. Why you saw him not all that long ago and there wasn’t a sign then?’

McLeod noted the faint accusation in Louise’s voice, and sighed. ‘I don’t actually see Ken very often, Louise, for the simple reason it isn’t easy for you to stump up my fee. But what you say is true, I didn’t notice any signs of TB last time I saw him. They were undoubtedly there, but indistinguishable from the symptoms of his pneumoconiosis. It’s only now that the TB has moved into a more advanced state that the manifested symptoms are displaying different characteristics.’

Louise wasn’t quite certain she understood that, but was sure it was right. Remembering she had a hanky in her coat pocket she dug it out and wiped her face.

McLeod watched her in silence, slightly irritated that she might think he’d been remiss in any way. There again, he reminded himself, he shouldn’t forget how shattered she must feel at the bombshell he’d just dropped. That mollified him a little.

‘Is there nothing can be done?’ Louise asked.

‘There are local authority sanatoria, but the waiting-lists are horrendously long. Tuberculosis has become almost endemic in recent years. A bed could easily be found if you went private of course, but . . .’ He spread his hands knowing that was out of the question for the Smiths.

‘Should I tell him?’ Louise queried in a hoarse whisper.

‘You must do what you think is right. Personally I always believe it best to tell the patient. In my experience the vast majority of them prefer to know.’

‘Then I’ll tell him tonight.’

‘If you’d like I’ll come round and do it.’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘It’s best it comes from me.’

‘It is infectious, you know,’ McLeod said softly.

She put a hand to her mouth and worried the flesh of her palm. All she could think about was the children. She didn’t matter, but they did. They had their whole lives ahead of them.

‘I wouldn’t recommend you shared the same bed any more,’ McLeod added.

Not share the same bed as her Ken, not sleep by his side. Not have that familiar body next to hers – sound advice it may be, but that was something she was going to have to consider long and hard.

Opening her handbag Louise fumbled around for her purse, but she was stopped by McLeod.

‘We’ll forget about that this time,’ he said. ‘Considering the circumstances.’

‘I can pay, Doctor,’ she replied, her fierce Scottish working-class pride welling within her.

‘I know you can, Louise. But on this occasion it isn’t necessary.’

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ she husked, rising.

Ever the gentleman McLeod walked her to the door where he shook her hand as he said goodbye.

When she was gone he thoroughly washed his own hands before seeing the next patient.

Outside it had started to rain. Louise halted under a gas lamp to tie her scarf round her head. Her hands were shaking so much that it took her three attempts before she succeeded.

Consumption, a year at the outside, never work again, those words whizzed round in her brain.

She couldn’t imagine life without Ken. It was simply inconceivable to her. And now . . . within such a short space of time . . .

She cried from the back of her throat like a stricken animal, fresh tears scalding her eyes. And the children, what about the children?

She walked homewards, but saw nothing. Once she stumbled and nearly pitched headlong, but hardly registered the fact.

When she came to she was standing on the bank of the canal staring into the black, still water. There, in the depths, myriad scenes from the past floated by. Her marriage to Ken, the birth of young Ken. The day trip by bus to Largs where they’d eaten fish and chips and ice-cream and had a wonderful time.

The birth of Tom, of Lena. The night Ken had got roaring drunk at a stag party and she’d almost locked him out of the house. Another night they’d both stayed up nursing Ian who’d developed croup. She’d told Ken to go to bed as he had his work in the morning, but he’d insisted on staying up nonetheless.

And the terrible, terrible day when he’d been diagnosed as having the dust, the scourge and fear of all miners. He’d tried in vain to get another job, but jobs were at a premium and there just hadn’t been anything available. He’d eventually been offered something on the surface, but the wage difference was such that he’d elected to stay underground.

‘Oh Ken, my bonny man,’ she whispered, anger and resentment boiling up in her.

It had stopped raining she suddenly realized, and then wondered what the time was. She’d been out far longer than she’d intended. Those at home would be getting worried about her.

She took a deep breath, then another. She must be composed when she got back, she told herself.

God give her strength, she thought. Then, bitterly, if there was such a thing as God. And if there was he was a cruel God to make people suffer as he did.

A few minutes later she passed a courting couple kissing in the shadows which brought a wry smile to her face. She and Ken had done exactly the same when courting, kissing and cuddling in all manner of places.

And now within a year that same Ken would be dead. She gagged, thinking she was going to be sick, but she wasn’t.

When she reached her landing she paused to wipe her face before going inside.

‘That’s the last one off,’ Louise announced quietly, returning from the other room. Sadie was long since asleep on the made-up sofa that doubled as her bed.

Ken, propped up by pillows, coughed into a large handkerchief. They’d agreed to wait until they were alone before Louise told him what the doctor had said.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked.

‘Not for me thanks. But you go ahead.’

She wouldn’t she decided. Making for only one would be a waste. And from now on, they’d have to watch every farthing even more so than they had in the past.

‘I won’t either,’ she replied.

Crossing to the cavity bed she perched herself on its edge. She then clasped his right hand between her own.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘It’s consumption, Ken. You’ve got consumption,’ she heard a distant voice say, a voice she recognized as her own. She hadn’t been aware of either opening her mouth or speaking.

Shock contorted his features. He hadn’t thought, never dreamt . . .

‘Pulmonary tuberculosis McLeod called it.’ She could feel the tears bubbling up and fought to keep them back.

‘There’s no . . .’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no mistake, Ken. The tests were quite definite. The doctor said the only reason he didn’t pick it up sooner was because of the dust. The symptoms of that were hiding the earlier symptoms of the other, if I understood him correctly.’

Ken sank back into the pillows, his face having gone white and waxen. His mother had died of consumption, a plump jolly woman who’d been reduced to less than five stones at the time of her passing

‘Stupid of me. How stupid of me,’ he said.

‘What is?’

‘I should have guessed. I don’t know what I thought it was, but never that. Not consumption.’

‘It isn’t fair,’ she said, squeezing his hand.

He barked out a hard laugh. ‘What made you think life ever was?’

‘But that on top of the dust.’

His eyes fastened on to hers, eyes filled with fear and a lot more she couldn’t interpret. ‘How long does McLeod give me?’

‘Six months. A year at the outside.’

He smiled cynically. ‘Six months to a year. Nothing at all. It’ll be a case of here today, gone tomorrow.’

‘Don’t, Ken!’ she protested.

‘It seems . . . it seems no time whatever since I was young Ken’s age. And now . . . six months to a year.’

‘McLeod said there wasn’t any hope of you getting into any of the local sanatoria, according to him the waiting-lists are horrendously long.’

‘And what about the pit?’

‘Your working days are over, Ken. That’s all finished.’

‘So I just lie here till the end, eh?’

She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Throwing herself forward she buried her face in his chest.

Ken gazed down at Louise, thinking how much he loved her. It wasn’t a love he declared very often, men of his background considered it a soft and cissy thing to do. But he did now, because it was important for them both.

‘You do know I love you, don’t you, Louise?’

She glanced up at him, her face awash. ‘Of course I do. Just as you know I love you.’

He nodded. ‘We might have been unlucky in some ways, but we’ve been lucky in others.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘You and the children are everything to me. Everything in the whole wide world.’

‘Oh Ken!’ she exclaimed, voice riven with despair.

He was about to answer that when he was seized with such a severe bout of coughing that his entire body shook. When it finally subsided, he was left gasping, the breath rattling in his throat as he inhaled.

‘What are we going to do?’ she asked when he had recovered slightly.

He weakly shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘A few weeks on young Ken’s wages and what the Union gives us is one thing, but over the long term . . .?’ She trailed off, and once more took his hand in hers.

‘Perhaps . . .’

‘What?’ she queried when he failed to go on.

‘We have to think of the children other than ourselves. We have to put their welfare first.’

She nodded her agreement, wondering what he was driving at.

‘My sister Joyce might take one in. They’ve got four of their own, but Bobby is a good and Christian man. I’m sure he’ll want to help.’

Louise’s heart plummeted within her. ‘You mean break up the family?’ The thought had also occurred to her, but she had swiftly banished it from her mind.

‘Is there any other solution?’ he whispered in a quavering voice.

Break up the family! she repeated mentally. No, that was too much. She couldn’t lose her babies as well as Ken.

‘Then there’s your brother John. He might help out.’

‘Liz is a bitch! Sour as vinegar. I’d never let her get her mitts on any of my children.’

‘She isn’t as bad as that,’ Ken countered, but without much conviction. He didn’t like his sister-in-law any more than Louise did. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, he reminded himself.

‘And what about Sadie?’ Louise husked, her eyes straying to her youngest daughter. ‘We could never expect anyone to take her. Not the way she is.’

‘Jesus!’ Ken felt utterly defeated. To talk like this of giving their own flesh and blood away. It was an even greater agony than the knowledge he was soon to die.

‘I feel so impotent,’ he said tightly.

At that, Louise laughed through her tears.

‘What’s the joke?’ he queried, frowning.

‘The joke is, my darling husband, whatever else you may be, you’re certainly not impotent.’

She paused, then explained, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I’m pregnant again.’

He stared at her aghast.

‘Another child, just what we need,’ she said.

‘Another child?’ he echoed.

This just about capped it all. And then he wondered if he’d still be around when their new baby was born, or would Louise already be a widow?

It was a goal to aim for Ken told himself, so