irritable.
‘What’s up with you lot. Something wrong with the beer?’
Cora was elbowed aside as the men crowded around Queenie and the barrels. Covering her mouth with a red-knuckled hand, she stumbled out.
As she hefted the heavy cauldron onto the small table Veryan saw Paddy, beer in hand, take Tom to the double row of lockers on the back wall and point out the one that had been Cider Joe’s. After stowing his few possessions Tom came towards her, carrying two bowls.
‘Told you I’d see you again, didn’t I?’ he said softly.
Head bent as she dished up the stew, Veryan didn’t reply.
‘You’re not spoken for then?’
The full ladle tipped dangerously as her head jerked up. ‘Didn’t you hear what they said?’
‘I heard.’ His violet gaze was level. Then he grinned.
‘Here, girl, keep your flirting for later,’ Queenie shouted, raising hoots and laughter. ‘These men been working all day. They want their food while it’s still hot.’
Flushing scarlet, Veryan bent her head again. ‘Go away,’ she said with quiet force. ‘Find your fun somewhere else.’
The men had collected their bowls of stew and were seated at the table when once again the door crashed open. A man lurched in, drunk and angry.
‘All right, where is he?’ he shouted, glaring blearily around.
‘By all the saints,’ Paddy grumbled. ‘Can’t a man have his tea in peace? All this coming and going and shouting, it’s like Dublin market so it is.’
‘I told you before, William Thomas,’ Queenie snapped. ‘You’re not welcome in here. Now get out.’
‘I’ll go when I’ve spoken to her.’ He stabbed a grimy finger at Veryan.
Flinching as vivid memories assailed her, Veryan ignored him and lifted two boiled suet puddings out of the copper.
‘All right,’ he snarled, coming towards her, shoulders hunched, head thrust forward. ‘Where is he? Where’s Davy?’
Losing interest, the men turned back to their food. A good fight was one thing, but no one with a lick of sense got involved in a family row. Hunched over their bowls they shovelled up the stew, slurping and chewing noisily.
‘I don’t know.’ It was the truth. She hadn’t seen him all day. She tugged at the knots, scalding her fingers. Fear shafted through her but she fought it. William Thomas had never been able to frighten her before. She would not let him frighten her now.
‘Don’t you give me that rubbish,’ he bellowed. ‘The boy follows you round like a bleddy shadow. Well, I won’t have it. You and your bleddy books, filling his head with nonsense. You’re turning him against us.’
Veryan’s head flew up. ‘You don’t need my help for that. You’re doing very successfully all by yourself.’
‘You stay away from him, do you hear me?’ Leaning over the flimsy table he stabbed his finger at her again. ‘I’m warning you.’
Sickened by his drunken belligerence, remembering Bessie’s bruised and swollen face, and her own terror, Veryan’s fear was swept aside by angry contempt. ‘Or what? Why does a man your size need to beat a small boy?’
‘To teach him obedience and respect,’ he snarled. ‘I reckon you could do with a lesson.’ Grabbing the table he dragged it sideways. Startled, Veryan reared back. But before he could grab her, Tom Reskilly had sprung from his seat, seized a fistful of collar and, twisting it tight, hauled William towards the door. Crimson, choking, his eyes bulging, Davy’s father thrashed his arms wildly.
‘You don’t raise your hand to a lady,’ Tom said. A few of the men sniggered. But as he glanced round they quickly fell silent. Shoving the man out, Tom closed the door and wiped his hands on the seat of his trousers. Resuming their meal the men murmured among themselves.
Veryan watched Tom come towards her, her head bursting. He was a navvy. The first man since her father to think her worth respect. He was a navvy. She was determined to escape from the works.
‘Listen –’ he
‘What’s up with you lot. Something wrong with the beer?’
Cora was elbowed aside as the men crowded around Queenie and the barrels. Covering her mouth with a red-knuckled hand, she stumbled out.
As she hefted the heavy cauldron onto the small table Veryan saw Paddy, beer in hand, take Tom to the double row of lockers on the back wall and point out the one that had been Cider Joe’s. After stowing his few possessions Tom came towards her, carrying two bowls.
‘Told you I’d see you again, didn’t I?’ he said softly.
Head bent as she dished up the stew, Veryan didn’t reply.
‘You’re not spoken for then?’
The full ladle tipped dangerously as her head jerked up. ‘Didn’t you hear what they said?’
‘I heard.’ His violet gaze was level. Then he grinned.
‘Here, girl, keep your flirting for later,’ Queenie shouted, raising hoots and laughter. ‘These men been working all day. They want their food while it’s still hot.’
Flushing scarlet, Veryan bent her head again. ‘Go away,’ she said with quiet force. ‘Find your fun somewhere else.’
The men had collected their bowls of stew and were seated at the table when once again the door crashed open. A man lurched in, drunk and angry.
‘All right, where is he?’ he shouted, glaring blearily around.
‘By all the saints,’ Paddy grumbled. ‘Can’t a man have his tea in peace? All this coming and going and shouting, it’s like Dublin market so it is.’
‘I told you before, William Thomas,’ Queenie snapped. ‘You’re not welcome in here. Now get out.’
‘I’ll go when I’ve spoken to her.’ He stabbed a grimy finger at Veryan.
Flinching as vivid memories assailed her, Veryan ignored him and lifted two boiled suet puddings out of the copper.
‘All right,’ he snarled, coming towards her, shoulders hunched, head thrust forward. ‘Where is he? Where’s Davy?’
Losing interest, the men turned back to their food. A good fight was one thing, but no one with a lick of sense got involved in a family row. Hunched over their bowls they shovelled up the stew, slurping and chewing noisily.
‘I don’t know.’ It was the truth. She hadn’t seen him all day. She tugged at the knots, scalding her fingers. Fear shafted through her but she fought it. William Thomas had never been able to frighten her before. She would not let him frighten her now.
‘Don’t you give me that rubbish,’ he bellowed. ‘The boy follows you round like a bleddy shadow. Well, I won’t have it. You and your bleddy books, filling his head with nonsense. You’re turning him against us.’
Veryan’s head flew up. ‘You don’t need my help for that. You’re doing very successfully all by yourself.’
‘You stay away from him, do you hear me?’ Leaning over the flimsy table he stabbed his finger at her again. ‘I’m warning you.’
Sickened by his drunken belligerence, remembering Bessie’s bruised and swollen face, and her own terror, Veryan’s fear was swept aside by angry contempt. ‘Or what? Why does a man your size need to beat a small boy?’
‘To teach him obedience and respect,’ he snarled. ‘I reckon you could do with a lesson.’ Grabbing the table he dragged it sideways. Startled, Veryan reared back. But before he could grab her, Tom Reskilly had sprung from his seat, seized a fistful of collar and, twisting it tight, hauled William towards the door. Crimson, choking, his eyes bulging, Davy’s father thrashed his arms wildly.
‘You don’t raise your hand to a lady,’ Tom said. A few of the men sniggered. But as he glanced round they quickly fell silent. Shoving the man out, Tom closed the door and wiped his hands on the seat of his trousers. Resuming their meal the men murmured among themselves.
Veryan watched Tom come towards her, her head bursting. He was a navvy. The first man since her father to think her worth respect. He was a navvy. She was determined to escape from the works.
‘Listen –’ he
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