and out into the work yards, where the women plied the washboards, the men smashed flint and the boys picked oakum. Few but the idiots in the infirmary stirred, who simply grinned back stupidly.
Mrs Inkpen had seen paupers before, with their pallid skin, lank hair and thousand-yard stares, and she made the same oath that most of them had, when they were interned here, years before. That she would never end up like them.
Fourteen
Lil only had a vague idea of what it was like in these places, but even so, she had seen so many people go there and never come back, she would sell herself if necessary to keep herself and her boy from it. For her, life wasn’t so bad after all.
Yes, she thought of Bob from time to time, knowing she would have to face visiting him at some point, but at least he hadn’t hanged, and her guilt was largely tempered by the many scars, both mental and physical, that accompanied it.
The money wouldn’t last forever and she knew it important to maintain a veneer of normality, so she carried on reading fortunes, determined that at some point soon, Robert would have to find work too, to supplement their income. However it was done, she knew they must never follow in the footsteps of the Inkpens.
Without the corrosive effect of having Bob around, her health and nerves were improving, together with Robert’s behaviour, and soon, she hoped, she might find proper work herself, as a seamstress. Things could only improve.
On this particular day, Robert was somewhere indoors. He no longer played with those rough boys, thank God! His swearing had diminished considerably and even his diction had improved. He had taken to scanning the newspapers, as well as the Bible, more and more, taking an interest in the world beyond the borders of their grubby street. It was as though the whole experience had forced him to grow up. She even caught peeks of him flicking through the dictionary when he came across a word he couldn’t understand and this gladdened her all the more.
Lil’s eyes were flicking from side to side as she gazed deeply into the ball. After telling sixteen-year-old Annie Pearson she would meet a ‘sailor from the Empire’, for instance, she had met, fallen in love with, and married a Canadian merchant shipman called Johnnie Preston. Lil had already surmised he would come along, after hearing Annie’s mother saying to a neighbour, rather snobbishly, that as none of the lads around here were good enough, she would take her daughter down to the docks, where she knew the ships from the colonies came in, undoubtedly with fantasises of her marrying a ship’s captain.
Now, both mother and daughter had spread the news that Lil was ‘touched by angels’ and Lil was busier than ever.
She glanced up at Mrs Cuthbertson, who was wrapped in a shawl, wheezing over a cigarette clamped between a nicotine-stained finger and thumb.
Her wrinkled face was framed with frizzy grey hair and she had a coughing fit as she took another drag, before asking between gasps, “You mean my Sid’s got a few bob stashed away?” She grinned in anticipation, flashing the pink of her toothless gums.
“Through the clouds of despair, shines the majesty of prosperity,” Lil had said, a prophecy that could be understood in so many ways, it was impossible to contradict.
Mrs Cuthbertson coughed some more and Lil let the fit pass before adding, gravely, “I see a man through the mist, a man once lost, a tall man, a wealthy man…”
Mrs Cuthbertson’s son had been released early from prison and word had it that he had recovered the loot he had salted away from a mansion he had burgled five years before.
She was about to carry on, when an icy finger traced its way down her spine. A man, exactly as she had described, stopped before her. She saw his shoes were buffed, and he wore an expensive, tailored suit and bowler hat.
He looked around slowly and gripped the Gladstone bag he was carrying
Mrs Inkpen had seen paupers before, with their pallid skin, lank hair and thousand-yard stares, and she made the same oath that most of them had, when they were interned here, years before. That she would never end up like them.
Fourteen
Lil only had a vague idea of what it was like in these places, but even so, she had seen so many people go there and never come back, she would sell herself if necessary to keep herself and her boy from it. For her, life wasn’t so bad after all.
Yes, she thought of Bob from time to time, knowing she would have to face visiting him at some point, but at least he hadn’t hanged, and her guilt was largely tempered by the many scars, both mental and physical, that accompanied it.
The money wouldn’t last forever and she knew it important to maintain a veneer of normality, so she carried on reading fortunes, determined that at some point soon, Robert would have to find work too, to supplement their income. However it was done, she knew they must never follow in the footsteps of the Inkpens.
Without the corrosive effect of having Bob around, her health and nerves were improving, together with Robert’s behaviour, and soon, she hoped, she might find proper work herself, as a seamstress. Things could only improve.
On this particular day, Robert was somewhere indoors. He no longer played with those rough boys, thank God! His swearing had diminished considerably and even his diction had improved. He had taken to scanning the newspapers, as well as the Bible, more and more, taking an interest in the world beyond the borders of their grubby street. It was as though the whole experience had forced him to grow up. She even caught peeks of him flicking through the dictionary when he came across a word he couldn’t understand and this gladdened her all the more.
Lil’s eyes were flicking from side to side as she gazed deeply into the ball. After telling sixteen-year-old Annie Pearson she would meet a ‘sailor from the Empire’, for instance, she had met, fallen in love with, and married a Canadian merchant shipman called Johnnie Preston. Lil had already surmised he would come along, after hearing Annie’s mother saying to a neighbour, rather snobbishly, that as none of the lads around here were good enough, she would take her daughter down to the docks, where she knew the ships from the colonies came in, undoubtedly with fantasises of her marrying a ship’s captain.
Now, both mother and daughter had spread the news that Lil was ‘touched by angels’ and Lil was busier than ever.
She glanced up at Mrs Cuthbertson, who was wrapped in a shawl, wheezing over a cigarette clamped between a nicotine-stained finger and thumb.
Her wrinkled face was framed with frizzy grey hair and she had a coughing fit as she took another drag, before asking between gasps, “You mean my Sid’s got a few bob stashed away?” She grinned in anticipation, flashing the pink of her toothless gums.
“Through the clouds of despair, shines the majesty of prosperity,” Lil had said, a prophecy that could be understood in so many ways, it was impossible to contradict.
Mrs Cuthbertson coughed some more and Lil let the fit pass before adding, gravely, “I see a man through the mist, a man once lost, a tall man, a wealthy man…”
Mrs Cuthbertson’s son had been released early from prison and word had it that he had recovered the loot he had salted away from a mansion he had burgled five years before.
She was about to carry on, when an icy finger traced its way down her spine. A man, exactly as she had described, stopped before her. She saw his shoes were buffed, and he wore an expensive, tailored suit and bowler hat.
He looked around slowly and gripped the Gladstone bag he was carrying
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