Chapters (64)
- Cover
- Title page
- Dedication page
- A Week’s Work in Birmingham
- I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- II
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- III
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Acknowledgements
- Further Reading
- About the Author
- By the Same Author
‘How long ago did the accident happen?’ Annie asked, appalled.
‘Back last winter.’ Mary Poole tilted her head, her eyes still wet. ‘He tried to keep going, I gotta give ’im that. But ’e couldn’t . . . ’E kept . . . They kept sacking ’im. I was at my wits’ end because we wasn’t gettin’ his pay . . . So we started this.’ She nodded down at the buttons and cards. ‘I mean, we dain’t ’ave much before, but we managed . . . And those people, at the parish – cruel, that’s what they are.’
Again she put her head in her hands and wept weakly.
‘Oh, Mom, don’t,’ Lizzie said again. Annie could see the pain in her eyes at the sight of her mother.
‘I don’t know where ’e’s gone. He’s like me – he ain’t got no one else, no family. But I don’t want the coppers on to ’im,’ Mary said. ‘They’d frighten ’im. He’s like a lost little child. He ain’t no good as a husband now, I’ve got to say. But I don’t want them hurting him.’
She turned to Annie with desperate intensity.
‘If we go on like this we’ll end up in the workhouse. I can’t go in there – I’ll do anything to see that my children don’t neither. My mother died in there when I was born. But I don’t know what to do. Help me – please, miss, can you help me? What can I do?’
Annie was about to promise that she would help, that they would somehow find a way, when the door burst open and Den and the twins came running in as if the devil was after them. Den, something clutched in his arms, turned and slammed the door shut with his foot. The girls stood panting.
‘Denny?’ Mary Poole half got to her feet, looking frightened.
‘S’all right.’ For the first time, Annie saw a smile cross Den Poole’s face – a brief glimpse of youthful mischief. ‘We gorrit!’
He went to the hearth and opened the grey, woolly bundle he held in his arms. A little cascade of coal fell into the fire bucket. Annie could hear what sounded like the fall of small, gritty bits and dusty slack.
‘Ada – Ivy – show ’em what you got,’ Den instructed.
The twins solemnly each reached into the little pockets of their dresses and brought out small lumps of coal, holding them out like offerings.
‘I got a couple too.’ Den emptied his own pockets.
‘Where did you get it from?’ Annie asked, puzzled.
‘Down the wharf,’ Den said. ‘And we got a piece at Lucas’s!’
This information was lost on Annie.
‘What – between yer?’ Lizzie asked.
‘No – one each!’