Hurrying down the passage, she opened the front door and looked up and down the street. There was no sign of him. In fact, for a Saturday night it was very quiet, except for Molly McBride who was rolling down the street singing an old Irish ditty. On seeing Bridget she called out, ‘Goodnight, me beauty,’ and promptly fell in the gutter.

Rushing out, Bridget hauled her to her feet.

‘Sure, I’m drunk as a lord,’ Molly laughed. ‘What’s more, I don’t care if I am!’ And she went on her way, singing words so randy they would have made grown men blush.

It made Bridget laugh out loud, and for one brief moment her own troubles were forgotten.

Tom had never been to the Swan Inn before. He chose it because the quarrymen did not frequent it. The inn was further out of town than the usual drinking haunts, and normally he would not have travelled so far for a drink either, but on this occasion a tuppenny bus ride was not much to pay for a few hours away from prying eyes.

The truth was, Ted Louis’s sneering comments had cut him deep. At first he had thought he was man enough to put it out of his mind and get on with his life, but now he knew differently. He had to make a new life, get away from here, find a place where he and Bridget were not known. He felt as if every man-jack around here was watching and waiting to see if he could father a child. The more he thought about leaving the area, the more the idea appealed to him. They could start again and, who knew, maybe things would change and he might turn out to be a ‘real’ man after all.

‘Ain’t it time yer went home to your wife and kids?’ The kindly innkeeper was impatient to shut up shop. ‘Everybody else has gone, and I’ll be closing the doors soon.’ He thought Tom looked like a man in trouble. ‘You ain’t run off, ’ave yer?’ he asked carefully. ‘Yer ain’t done nowt wrong, I hope. I mean, the authorities ain’t after yer, are they? I don’t want no trouble here. I run a clean premises, I do.’ He shook his head and his jowls wobbled from side to side. With his bright red face he looked like a half-set jelly.

Tom shook his head. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’ That was the pity of it all. Whatever misfortune had been handed down to him was none of his doing.

‘Won’t she be worried about yer?’

‘Who?’

‘The missus! Won’t she wonder where you are?’

‘Probably.’

‘An’ don’t yer care?’

‘Maybe.’ He loved Bridget, but deep down he was bitter. No doubt she was fertile as a cow in season, while he didn’t have it in him to make her with child. It was a wicked thing for a man like himself, big and strong, and able to do everything else demanded of him. He often wondered whether she was laughing at him behind his back, but no, Bridget wasn’t like that, and he should be ashamed of even thinking it. ‘I dare say she is wondering where I am,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘As a rule, I tell her how long I’m likely to be, but not this time.’