As Tom dropped the coin into her hand, Nelly caught sight of Bridget giving her a strange look. She smiled in response. ‘Look after yourself now, lass,’ she said disarmingly.

When they had left, Nelly leaned on the door and wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘I reckon the little sod rumbled me,’ she chuckled. ‘But she’ll not give me away, even if she does remember Bob Morris. A grand feller, the way he fetched the doctor and dipped into his own pocket to pay him too.’ Still chuckling, she spat on the coin for good luck.

In the kitchen, she cleared the table, whipped the cloth off, and inched the table top along. Within the framework underneath was a carved hole the size of a man’s fist. Reaching into it she withdrew a small, round bag and tipped its contents on to the table. The coins spilled out and she rubbed her hands with glee. ‘While I’ve got this, I’ll never be lonely,’ she giggled.

For a brief moment she reviewed her life. ‘When it comes right down to it, Nelly Potts,’ she muttered thoughtfully, ‘there’s nobody else in this whole wide world who really gives a sod about you.’ It was a sobering thought. Yet, as she set about counting the coins for the umpteenth time, she didn’t care a bugger. ‘Sod ’em all, that’s what I say. As long as I’ve got me little bag o’ cash, I’ll be happy as a pig in muck.’

Well into the evening, Nelly sat at the table, counting her hoard, missing a coin and starting again. She was never happier.

‘Is it warm enough?’ Tom took Bridget’s shawl and laid it across the back of a chair.

‘It’s lovely, Tom. Thank you.’ When she raised her face and their eyes met, she saw the goodness there. There was something else too, a kind of fear. ‘Would you like to hold Ruth?’ Bridget looked down, smiling into that tiny face, so incredibly like Tom’s.

She heard a sound behind her and when she looked up again Tom was gone. ‘I’ll make you a hot drink,’ he called from the kitchen.

Bridget’s heart sank. True, Tom had not refused to hold the child, nor had he been unkind in any way, but clearly he wanted to keep his distance. And towards herself he had shown only concern, not affection. He had got the house ready and displayed more kindness than he had done in a long time, but he had not kissed her, or even touched her. He had followed her into the house and he had lifted the shawl from her shoulders without any kind of contact. More disturbing than that, when she looked into his eyes, she saw that same desperation as before.

When Tom returned to set the drink beside her, she reached out and held his hand. ‘I do love you,’ she murmured sincerely. ‘Please believe that.’

Taken aback, he stared at her for a moment before drawing away. ‘I know,’ he said simply. ‘Just give me time.’