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
‘I think she’s coming to,’ a woman’s voice said. The gentle sound of it brought back her mother and filled her with longing.
She felt queasy. Smells came to her – smoky, putrid . . . And sweat . . . The sweat of someone very close . . . A man’s arms holding on to her!
Her eyes snapped open and she tried to leap to her feet.
‘Maggs – don’t!’ Annie was squatting beside her, fanning her with a newspaper. Someone else was pressing her down by the shoulders.
‘Don’t rush it, bab,’ the comforting woman said. ‘You’ve had a bit of a turn. Just get up slow, like, or you might pass out again.’ To someone else, she added, ‘Poor thing – ’er looks ever so washed out.’
Margaret struggled to sit up, breathing deeply to force away the nausea. A ring of faces surrounded her, interested in the spectacle.
‘Those two ain’t from round ’ere,’ a man’s voice said. ‘Couple of lookers though, ain’t they?’
For a moment Margaret could see only strangers. Where was she? she thought, panicking again. A street, a horse and dray going by, crowds of people surging past . . . Then her sister’s face again, swimming into view. Annie was squatting beside her now, careless of her skirt hem in all the muck.
‘You fainted on the tram,’ she said. ‘Lucky we were nearly there, and Jack – Mr Sidwell – and I managed to get you off. Other people helped.’
Annie, being Annie, sounded quite excited about this turn of events. Margaret shrivelled inside. She wanted to pass out again with the shame. The humiliation of finding herself collapsed on the filthy brick pavement of a Birmingham street, surrounded by a crowd of interested strangers, only added to the burden of all her other emotions. She could not say a word.
‘You’ll be all right now, bab,’ the kindly lady said. Margaret realized that it had been Jack Sidwell holding her up and that he had now retreated. She saw his dull black shoes planted beside her.
‘Thank you all,’ she managed, as hands helped her to her feet. ‘I’m sorry . . .’
‘Oh, there’s nowt to be sorry about,’ the woman said, squeezing her arm. Her thin, prematurely aged face smiled at Margaret. ‘Could happen to anyone in this heat. And you look new around here.’
‘That’s what a visit to Brum does for yer!’ someone offered, which provoked laughter.
‘Where’ve you got to get to?’ the woman asked Jack Sidwell.
‘Only Chain Street.’ But he sounded flustered. Picking up the bags, he said to Annie, ‘Can you help her?’ He gave a helpless look as if to say, what can I do?
Annie took Margaret’s arm. Jack led the way and Margaret saw him straighten his shoulders. She found something faintly ridiculous about him. Was it that hat?
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Nearly there.’
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