Read Online Saturday's Child by Ruth Hamilton - Free Book Online

know you?’
    She shook her head.
    The man stepped out in front of her. ‘Course I do, we live near one another.’ He swallowed audibly, then took the plunge. ‘I could take you to the pictures later on.’
    ‘No,’ she insisted.
    He grinned, displaying a set of teeth almost too white to be true. ‘I’m a stranger in a way,’ he said, ‘only I’m not, because I live nearly back-to-back with you,
just a few yards away. We’re neighbours. I’m Paul Horrocks.’
    Magsy eyed him. Yes, she had seen him about. ‘And I’m late,’ she told him.
    ‘No, you’re Margaret O’Gara.’
    She fought a threatening smile – she didn’t want to encourage him. ‘If you don’t mind, Mr Horrocks, I have to fetch my daughter from my neighbour’s house, then I
must get her off to church.’
    ‘Then I’ll walk with you. Some funny characters about, you know. Never know who you’ll bump into.’
    Squashing the obvious reply, she stepped around him. He caught up immediately. ‘I work for a builder,’ he said. ‘Bit of overtime this morning – the extra always comes in
handy.’
    Magsy tried to ignore him, but this was a man who refused to be sidelined. There he was, striding along, jaunty as a young pup, carrying on about bricklaying, plumblines and how to mix
mortar.
    ‘I’m tired, Mr Horrocks,’ she said during a brief pause in the monologue.
    ‘Oh, are you?’
    She wasn’t going to enter into details about double shifts, about saving up so that Beth might have extra books for proper schooling. It wasn’t his business – wasn’t
anyone’s except her own. ‘Yes, I am exhausted, Mr Horrocks.’
    ‘You can call me Paul.’
    She inhaled sharply. Why should she have to put up with this sort of thing all the while? A person should be able to go about her business without being a target. ‘I am tired,’ she
repeated, ‘tired of this . . . this type of behaviour.’ She stopped, faced him. ‘Leave me alone,’ she said distinctly. ‘I do not want to go for a drink, nor do I wish
to visit the cinema. I have worked hard all morning and I need to get home to my daughter.’
    He frowned. ‘And what do you do in your spare time?’
    Magsy raised a shoulder. ‘I eat, sleep, look after my child.’
    ‘And for fun?’
    ‘I educate her.’ She stepped away and carried on in the direction of home. All the time, she knew that he was still there, that he was following her, that he would persist until she
reached her door. She squashed a disobedient bubble of excitement that rose in her throat, a feeling that caused her breathing to quicken slightly. He was just another of ‘those’ men,
after all.
    Paul Horrocks was not a man who gave up easily. He had fixed his eye on this young widow some months ago; it had taken every ounce of his will to finally speak to her. He had done that all
wrong, too, sounding like a callow youth, did she fancy a night at the pictures. Beauty such as hers was not easy to approach, since it seemed so out of reach to the ordinary man. He had made a
right pig’s ear of it, a total mess. It was hard, too, talking to somebody who looked like she should be in the films instead of in the audience.
    And there she was, a yard in front of him, all muffled up against intruders, her mind on the little girl, her eyes fixed resolutely on the path to home and the way towards her future. She, too,
was possessed of determination. He caught up with her again. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I never meant to upset you.’
    ‘Forget it,’ she advised. ‘I have.’
    ‘Don’t say that,’ he said, ‘please don’t.’
    Magsy was shocked, not by what he had said, but because she had heard something in the words, a vulnerability, almost a fear. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, you know.’
    He tried to laugh, but it came out all wrong, like a cross between a witch’s cackle and the neighing of a sick horse. ‘I know,’ he managed, his voice higher than normal,
‘it can’t be easy for