‘So now she knows. He’ll have to make a choice. Is that why you were looking for a drop o’ the good stuff to celebrate with?’

‘No matter.’ Chinking her cup with Bridget’s, Fanny laughed. ‘Yer should hear the old sod whining on about how he’d like to strangle the bastard who told his missus. I tell yer, Bridget, it’s all I can do to keep a straight face.’

But she couldn’t keep a straight face now, and neither could Bridget. They laughed until their sides ached, and Fanny warned, ‘I’ll have to calm down, gal. I’ve a funny pain coming.’ Clutching her side, she gave a weird little groan, but it took a minute or two before the two of them were sober enough to talk without collapsing into fits of laughter. It did them both good.

‘You were telling me about things at home,’ Fanny reminded Bridget. ‘Is there no chance yer might move back into Tom’s bedroom?’

Bridget shook her head. ‘It’s over,’ she said sadly. ‘Tom vowed he would never again take me as his wife, and he meant it.’

‘So he’s claimed the big front room, while you’re still in that poky room at the back?’

‘That doesn’t bother me. It’s a cosy enough room. I’ve changed the curtains and put more rugs on the floor, and I can see the fields from my window.’ A note of nostalgia crept into her voice. ‘I don’t sleep much these nights,’ she said. ‘I’m always up round about five to get Tom’s breakfast.’ Patting her belly she explained with a smile, ‘Anyway, the little one won’t let me sleep for too long at a time. I expect you know all about that.’

‘Not me!’ Fanny laughed. ‘I sleep like a log, and woe betide any bugger who wakes me afore I’m good and ready.’

‘Do you think Bill’s wife will really leave him?’

‘I bloody hope so, otherwise I might as well not have bothered, eh? Mind you, as long as he turns up every Friday with my wages, happen I shouldn’t give a sod whether he comes to me or stays with her.’

‘But you do? Give a sod, I mean?’

Fanny nodded, her sorry expression betraying the depth of her feelings. ‘Oh, aye. I do. I want him here with me, to be a proper husband to me, and a proper father to this bairn.’

‘It’s not much to ask when all’s said and done.’

Fanny shrugged her shoulders. ‘We don’t always get what we want though. You of all people should know that.’

Bridget wasn’t listening. Already her thoughts had moved on. ‘I miss him, you know.’

‘Who? Harry?’

‘No. Tom.’ Smiling shyly, Bridget explained, ‘I miss him cuddling me when we used to lie in bed of a Sunday morning. I miss him at breakfast, then again when he comes home from work. I want things to be like they were. We used to talk and laugh, and though things were never perfect, we were content enough. I miss all that.’