‘God bless you,’ he murmured as she and Bob went on their way. ‘You and the bairn have brought me more joy than you’ll ever know.’

Neither Joe nor Bridget noticed the solitary figure lingering beneath the market clock. Harry Little saw her leave with the young man, and he knew he had missed his chance yet again.

‘Stop fooling yourself, Harry,’ he muttered as he walked slowly away. ‘Even if she’d been on her own, you would never have approached her. If you had, she might have torn your heart out. Tom Mulligan was driven to take his own life, Bridget was widowed, and the child was made fatherless, and all because of what you did. For too many reasons there was never any chance for you and Bridget. And the sooner you forget her, the better.’

By the time Bob and Bridget got to the top of King Street, it was pitch black. ‘Are you coming inside for a while?’ Bridget thought it was the least she could offer.

‘Thank you, yes, I’d like that.’ His dark eyes shone with pleasure. ‘I can’t believe Ruth slept all the way.’ Peering into the carriage, he saw she was only now beginning to stir. ‘Is she always this good?’

Finding the keyhole, Bridget inserted the key, turned it and flung open the door. ‘She’s a real sweetheart,’ she replied. ‘In all her three years, I’ve never had one bad day with her.’

When she went to take charge of the carriage, he politely told her he could manage. Skilfully manoeuvring the cumbersome thing all the way down the passage and into the parlour, he was delighted when Ruth put up her arms to him. ‘Oh, look, she’s wide awake!’ Lifting the child into his arms, he sat himself down, cooing and chatting and making her laugh. ‘She’s so pretty,’ he exclaimed. ‘She gets it from her mammy.’

Making no comment, Bridget hung up her coat and went straight into the kitchen where she prepared porridge for Ruth and hot cocoa for herself and Bob.

When she came back into the parlour, he was lighting the fire and keeping Ruth at bay all at the same time. ‘Have you no guard for this fire?’ he asked with concern, and when Bridget answered that she used the cot side to keep Ruth away from the fire, he promised to make her a special guard. ‘One that will hook to the wall either side.’

The next hour was one of the most pleasant Bridget had spent in a long time. Ruth sat at the table, and she and Bob talked about his work, and how she saw her future, but while the subject of marriage hung heavy in the air, neither of them mentioned it.

Ruth ate every last spoonful of her porridge. ‘That’s a good girl,’ Bridget said, lifting her down from the chair. It was half past seven. ‘Tired, are you, sweetheart?’

The child shook her head. ‘Want to play.’

‘All right.’ Bridget normally liked to put Ruth to bed before eight o’clock, but tonight was Christmas Eve after all. ‘You can stay up an extra half-hour,’ she said. ‘Then it’s off to your bed and no argument.’