Bridget nodded, but said nothing. It was all true, everything Fanny had said.

‘Maybe it was Ruthie who got to him. When you asked him to hold her, he should have had the strength to love her for what she was, an innocent bairn who had no part or say in her making. But don’t you understand, Bridget? He looked at her and could only see Harry, not you, but Harry. A man who had fathered a child when he could not.’

When she saw that Bridget was listening intently, Fanny went on urgently, ‘Don’t you see, gal? It didn’t matter that you were Ruthie’s mother. It only mattered that Harry was her father. That was what rankled with him. Harry had fathered a child when he could not!’

‘All this time,’ said Bridget, ‘and you’ve never spoken like this before. Why now?’

Fanny looked at her tear-smudged face, and her heart was sore. ‘Over the years, for one reason or another, we’ve both bottled up our feelings, but there comes a time when you have to let it all out.’

‘I’m glad we talked like this.’

‘Will you think about what I’ve said, gal? Will you give yourself a chance to enjoy life? You’re still young and lovely, and here’s a man who could make you forget all the bad things. So will you think about it? For Ruthie, and for me.’ She smiled. ‘And most of all, gal, for yourself.’

Just then the children ran up. ‘We’re hungry,’ Billy yelled, running rings round them, and with an excited shout Ruthie threw herself on top of Bridget.

‘Billy says we’ve got jelly,’ she cried. And the women knew their time for privacy was over.

‘Right, you two!’ Fanny’s voice rose like a sergeant major’s above the din. ‘It’s party time!’

She got out the tablecloth and laid it on the grass, while Bridget began setting out the food. First came the sandwiches she and Fanny had prepared, then the tiny pieces of chicken cooked and cut up by Bridget the night before, together with some very dainty pork pies from a local farm and supplied by Bob Morris. The plates were laid out, then the cutlery and some very pretty napkins bought by Fanny in the market the week before; and two beautiful, hand-made birthday cards for the children which Bridget had been keeping hidden for the past three weeks.

Fanny had baked scones and made up little bags of sweets – six for each child to celebrate their sixth birthdays. There was cordial and sarsaparilla, and a drop o’ the good stuff for the women.

Billy was considered to be the hero of the day because he had had to wait two whole days for his birthday party. ‘And yer mam’s right proud of yer,’ Fanny told him.

Billy reminded them how last year Ruthie had had her party early so they could have it together, as always. Ruthie, never far away from him, slid her hand into his. When he smiled down at her, it gave Bridget a lump in her throat. ‘I hope they’ll always be such good friends,’ she told Fanny.