When she awoke, the downstairs clock was striking the chimes. She counted them. One… two… three. Only three o’clock, she thought, disappointed.

She went softly downstairs to make herself a hot drink. She sat at the table, slowly sipping the burning liquid, her active mind going over the night’s events.

She spied the bottle of gin, surprised to see how much of it she had drunk. ‘When I said I’d marry him, was it me talking, or was it the gin?’

Absent-mindedly, she rolled the cool bottle against her face, thinking of Fanny, and how she had always wanted her to marry Bob. ‘Put him out of his misery, gal,’ that’s what she’d said. ‘Well, now I’ve put him out of his misery,’ Bridget muttered. ‘Have I done the right thing?’ Taking a deep sigh, she nodded her head. ‘I reckon so.’

Again, she looked at the bottle, then to the floor where she and Bob had writhed together in their nakedness. It swam through her mind as if she was seeing it through another person’s eyes.

‘Dear God! What if Ruthie had come down and seen us?’ But then she recalled how Bob had dimmed the light and closed the door, probably with that very thought in mind. All the same, what if Ruthie had come down? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Now, with the sleep gone from her, she returned to her room and dressed. ‘There’s work to be done,’ she muttered, ‘and a great deal to think about.’ She put clean sheets on the bed, gathered together a pile of washing, and dumped it in the dolly tub downstairs.

By the time the clock struck eight, the clothes were washed, mangled and hung out on the line, she had made a small fire, dusted, polished, and cooked her and Ruthie’s breakfast.

‘Come on, sweetheart.’ Climbing the stairs, Bridget gently shook the sleeping child. ‘Time to get up. Breakfast is ready, and I’ve got something special to tell you.’

While Ruthie stretched, peering curiously out of sleepy eyes, Bridget felt this was the start of a whole new life. It feels right, she decided.

‘What have you got to tell me, Mammy?’

‘You like Uncle Bob, don’t you?’

‘I think so.’ One arm went round Bridget and the other scratched her head.

‘Would you like to have him for your daddy?’

‘My daddy was killed in the quarry.’ Thoughts of what Billy had told her came to mind. His daddy didn’t want him. Her daddy was dead. Mammy had told her so.

‘I know that, sweetheart, but sometimes we get a second chance. Uncle Bob wants to marry me, and that would make him your new daddy. Would you like that?’ Bridget held her breath. If Ruthie was set against the idea, she wouldn’t know how to handle it.

Ruthie blinked and yawned. Then she fixed her gaze on Bridget’s troubled brown eyes and declared matter-of-factly, ‘Mammy, I’m hungry.’

Taking that as a yes, Bridget hugged her hard. ‘Things will be different from now on,’ she promised. ‘You see if I’m not right.’