The Dressmaker’s Daughter. Nancy Carson

      ‘Sure? ’Course I’m sure. He’s been here often enough. He was at our Joe’s with her on New Year’s Eve. You must’ve seen him.’

      ‘No, I don’t remember.’

      ‘Why? Who says different?’ She put her hand to her ear in anticipation of his reply.

      ‘Jesse called it off with our Sylvia. You must’ve heard. Sarah thinks it’s Lizzie’s fault.’

      ‘Well tell Sarah from me as it ain’t Lizzie’s fault. Whatever cock ’n’ bull story Sylvia’s told her, it ain’t Lizzie’s fault, take it from me. I suppose that’s why you ain’t been a-nigh?’

      He nodded glumly.

      ‘Then you ought to be ashamed – especially you, Tom – judging our Lizzie like that. You know very well she wouldn’t do a thing like that – pinching another woman’s chap. Especially somebody she’s close to, like our Sylvia.’

      ‘It’s as I thought, Eve. Sarah’s got the wrong end o’ the stick, then … but it’s only what our Sylvia’s told her. Don’t fret. I’ll sort it out.’

      ‘Whether or no, the damage is done.’

      ‘Well they’ve both always been jealous of Lizzie, you know that as well as I do. It don’t surprise me as either of ’em should grab the first chance to show her up in a bad light.’

      ‘I know all about that, Tom. But afore they spread wicked gossip they ought to get their story right.’

      He put his hand in the pocket of his cord working trousers and fished out a half sovereign. ‘Here, I’ve got a bit o’ widow’s pension I’ve been savin’ up.’ He pressed it on her.

      Eve gave it back. ‘I don’t want it. You won’t get round me like that … And you can stop your laughing.’

      ‘I ain’t trying to get round you, yer saft madam. After everything we’ve been to each other I hardly feel as I have to get round yer. I’m trying to help.’

      ‘If you’m determined to give it away, then give it our Lizzie this time.’

      Tom picked up the oven glove from the table and lifted the boiling kettle from the fire, then filled the teapot.

      ‘I’ll leave it for our Lizzie, then.’

      *

      On the Saturday evening when Lizzie left work Ben was waiting for her. She was so glad to see him. It was the first time she’d seen him for nearly a week.

      ‘Hello, stranger,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d forgotten me.’

      He took her hand and they started to walk down High Street towards the Market Place. ‘No fear of that, my flower. I’ve been thinking about you all the while.’

      ‘Flannel!’

      He laughed. ‘I never flannel, Lizzie.’

      ‘Except when you think I’m vexed at you.’

      ‘And are you vexed at me?’

      She shook her head and smiled.

      ‘Good. Thinking about you has been the only pleasure I’ve had this week. Have you heard about the fire at the Hamstead Colliery?’

      She said of course she had.

      ‘That bastard of a father of mine is one of the missing men.’

      She gasped. ‘Oh, no, Ben. Oh, I’m ever so sorry.’

      ‘I’m not. That’s why I haven’t been to see you sooner. Looking after Mother and that.’

      ‘You know, I feared as much. Something told me your father was one of those poor souls trapped, and I didn’t even know what pit he worked at. Your poor mother! How’s she taking it?’

      ‘Oh, I’d love to know what’s going on inside her head. She’s worried to death – bound to be. But she’s shed ne’er a tear yet.’

      ‘D’you expect her to?’

      ‘Maybe not. Not after he’s been such an evil swine. But he is her husband and the father of her sons. But knowing Mother, if she sheds no tears over him she’ll shed ’em all the more over the other poor devils stuck down there. If none survive, just think of all the heartache it’ll cause.’

      ‘I know. I could cry. Everybody you talk to feels the same.’

      High Street was busy with people rushing home. A tram crammed with folk whined towards Top Church, ringing its bell to warn stragglers walking in the horse road to make way. Lizzie and Ben turned into Union Street away from the mainstream, thus avoiding the Market Place and the crowds.