He made a sound in his throat, a harsh sound. He didn’t know why he was thinking of all this now. No, that wasn’t true, it was because of Walt, damn him, stirring things up. All he wanted was to be left alone – that wasn’t too much to ask, was it? He could get by if he was left alone. Work, eat, drink, sleep, work again, and on a Sunday, come rain, hail or shine, he’d tramp the countryside for miles around until he was even more tired than when he had finished a shift down the pit. Thinking only tied him up in knots and brought the ever present rage to the surface, a rage that genuinely made him fear he’d do murder one day when he looked at Olive.

So, don’t think. He nodded to the command, and like a child obeying a parent, made his way towards the wash house, his face set and his eyes cold and hard.

Olive glanced at the clock on the kitchen mantelpiece. He’d be home soon. Her stomach turned over. It was ridiculous, after two years of marriage, but every time Adam’s arrival was imminent the trembling would start inside. Once he walked through the door she could cope with the bitterness and dislike that were evident in his every glance and word, but it was the waiting that caused her insides to knot. She supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t taken to the drink like some men did to drown their sorrows, but if it had made him more mellow she wouldn’t have minded. Anything would be better than the present state of affairs. But it was the way he was with Alice that hurt her the most.

As though her daughter had heard her name Alice gurgled in her highchair where she was chewing on a crust of bread Olive had baked in the oven until it was as hard as iron. The infant was teething and her mouth was bothering her, day and night. But she was such a good baby, Olive thought fondly, walking across and ruffling the silky brown curls. Even with the teething Alice rarely cried, although sometimes her plump little cheeks would be bright red with pain, and at twenty-one months old she was as happy as the day was long. Considering the misery of Olive’s pregnancy, she was constantly amazed none of her anguish had communicated itself to the child in her womb.