Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection. Josephine Cox

      ‘You do, lass,’ Marie reminded her. ‘You’ve got pictures of them and I’ve told you as much as I know, so you know them almost as well as I did.’ She tutted loudly. ‘And now you know the grubby little secret I’ve been keeping all these years.’

      ‘And it’ll stay a “secret”,’ Amy promised.

      ‘And I’m sorry if I frightened old Bob.’ Marie jerked a thumb towards the door. ‘But he’s treading on dangerous ground if he goes looking for some young flighty thing. I had to give him a little warning.’

      ‘You did right, Mam.’ In view of what she’d just been told, Amy agreed. ‘I would love to see him find a good woman … we both would. But what you said might just make him think twice before he does anything foolish.’

      The day quickly passed, and customers came and went, and it was just an hour to closing before Marie and Amy found time to catch their breath.

      Then Amy began replenishing the shelves, while Marie went into the back room and made them each a cup of tea. ‘I’ve brought us a slice of cake,’ she told Amy, emerging with a tray and a smile.

      ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’

      Pulling up a stool, Amy sat beside her mother at the counter. ‘When we’ve had this, you can start the cashing up, while I finish filling up the shelves.’

      ‘That’s a good idea,’ Marie agreed. ‘I doubt if we’ll get any more customers now. We can’t shut up shop just in case, but we can take a minute or two to enjoy a well-deserved break.’

      They had no sooner started tucking into the refreshments than the door opened and in came a woman with a child at her side.

      At once, because of her appearance, both Amy and her mother thought this might be the new neighbour Alice had complained about. Seemingly in her mid-thirties, she looked a weary soul, and if, as Alice claimed, the clothes on their backs were all they had, then both woman and child were in a sorry state.

      While Marie returned the tray to the kitchen, complete with half-eaten cake, Amy addressed the child, a small, scraggy thing with wild fair hair and an angelic-looking face.

      ‘Hello. What’s your name then?’

      Reaching down to chuck the child under the chin, she was disappointed when he drew away and hid behind his mammy’s skirt.

      ‘His name’s Johnny.’ Putting an arm round his tiny shoulders, the woman explained, ‘He’ll not talk to you. He never talks to anybody but me.’

      Amy smiled at the toddler. ‘He’s a fine-looking boy.’ Though she thought he could do with fattening up a bit. ‘How old is he?’

      ‘He’ll be three come July. I won’t have to think about putting him in school for a bit yet.’

      ‘We’ve a good school round here,’ Amy informed her. ‘According to what the customers tell me, their children seem to be doing all right.’

      ‘I’m not interested in what other folks might say,’ the woman informed Amy.

      Fearing she might have overstepped the mark, Amy apologised. ‘I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.’

      ‘Well, there’s no need, thank you. Now, what can I get for that?’ She slapped a handful of coins on the counter.

      Amy glanced at the coins. ‘What is it you want exactly?’

      Pushing the coins towards Amy, the woman asked, ‘Is there enough for bread, butter, and a half-pint o’ milk?’

      Amy collected up the coins. ‘You’ve more than enough,’ she said, sliding two halfpennies back to her.

      ‘Are you sure? I don’t want charity!’ the customer declared proudly.

      ‘It isn’t charity.’ Giving the halfpennies another push towards the woman, Amy added kindly, ‘This is your change. There really is enough money for what you want.’

      There was a curious moment when the woman and Amy looked at each other, and a kind of deep-seated understanding passed between them.

      ‘Thank you.’ The woman nodded gratefully.

      It took only a minute for Amy to gather the few items and, as the woman dropped them into her bag, Amy noticed the boy’s longing glance at the sweet jars. Wary of being too familiar with the child, she asked the woman, ‘Is it all right if I give Johnny a sweetie?’

      ‘And how much will that cost me?’

      ‘No, please … let it be a small gift from me to him. It’s nothing much.’

      The woman looked at the boy and the boy smiled up at her. ‘Sweetie,’ he whispered shyly, his eyes lit up, and her heart melted.

      ‘All right, son. But we’d best not make a habit of it,’ she added to Amy.

      Taking a sweet from the jar, Amy held it down to the boy. ‘There you are, Johnny.’

      But before the boy could take the sweet, Marie returned and the woman seemed to panic. ‘It’s time we were off!’ Taking Johnny by the hand, she propelled him across the shop.

      ‘No, Mammy,’ the boy began to cry, ‘the lady’s got my sweetie.’

      ‘Please … I have it here.’ Running across the shop, Amy blocked their way, but not in a threatening manner. ‘It’s just a sweet,’ she pleaded. ‘Please?’

      There was that long, intimate moment again, when the older woman and the young one seemed to understand each other and when the woman spoke now, it was with gratitude. ‘Thank you. But you’d best give it to me. You’re a stranger. He’ll not come anywhere near strangers.’

      When the boy backed away, once more hiding behind his mammy’s skirt, Amy stooped down, keeping her distance but all the while smiling at his peeping face. ‘This is for you. Take it, Johnny.’ Holding out the sweet, she coaxed, ‘It’s liquorice, all soft and chewy, but if you don’t like this one, we can choose another. What do you say?’

      Slowly, hesitantly, the boy came forward and took the sweet from her, and to everyone’s amazement, he reached up, kissed Amy on the face and ran back to his mammy, with the sweet clutched tightly in his hand.

      ‘Well, I never!’ The woman couldn’t believe it. ‘That’s the first time he’s ever done a thing like that. It seems he’s took a liking to you.’ Now, as she smiled, the years and weariness fell from her face and she looked ten years younger. ‘What’s your name?’

      ‘Amy.’

      ‘Well, Amy, it would seem you have a way with children. Do you have any of your own?’

      Amy shook her head, ‘No. I’m not married.’

      ‘Got a regular fella, have you?’

      Amy rolled her eyes in frustration. ‘Not so’s you’d notice.’ She supposed the Tuesday man at Tooley’s Café didn’t count. She had come to look forward to seeing him there despite the frustration of having, even yet, not discovered even his name. In a way that made it easier – he could be anyone – and she would find herself thinking about him and wondering.

      ‘Hmm! All I can say is, the men round these parts must be a wagonload o’ fools.’

      Amy laughed. ‘Happen they’re just not interested in me.’

      ‘Oh, and why would that be?’

      ‘Because I’m not the prettiest girl around.’ Amy had never fooled herself on that score.

      ‘I don’t know who told you that, because you look all right to me. But it means nothing anyway,’ the woman assured her. ‘Prettiness is on the outside, and anyway, after a time it begins to fade.’ She wagged a finger. ‘It’s what’s on the inside that counts. A man might cast his eyes over a pretty girl,