The Barefoot Child. Cathy Sharp

You can add everythin’ same as a mutton stew and it lasts as long – unless yer eat it all quick ’cos it’s too delicious!’

      ‘I haven’t got much money,’ Lucy whispered, ashamed. ‘I don’t earn much at the factory and Josh gets less than I do – and Ma’s not been well enough to work since last winter when she had that terrible chill.’

      ‘Show me,’ Eric demanded and she opened her hand to show him the pennies and sixpences. ‘Two shillings – that’s enough. Todd will have some leftover chicken joints by now and I’ve plenty of veg you can have cheap, lass.’

      Lucy curled her fingers over the money. ‘I don’t want charity …’

      ‘Nay, Lucy, don’t get miffed.’ Eric grinned. ‘Todd alus grumbles as folk don’t want the back and leg joints. He sells the breasts and has to take all the leftover bits for his missus – and his missus Sal won’t use ’em; she wants whole ones to roast so he gives the bits to the stray dogs. He’ll sell you a good big parcel for a bob and you can have sixpence worth of veg from me – last you most of the week, that will.’

      Lucy hesitated, nodding shyly, forcing herself not to let pride get in her way. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Chicken would be a lovely change for Josh and Kitty.’

      ‘I’d do anythin’ fer yer.’ Eric gave her a look that made the colour rush up her pale neck and into her cheeks. ‘Nay, I never wanted to upset yer, lass – but I like yer, see, and one day … well …’ He left the rest unsaid and Lucy warmed to him.

      ‘Show me where to go,’ she said. ‘I’ll buy the chicken I can afford and come back for the veg.’

      ‘I’ll come wiv yer, ’cos Todd can be a surly bugger, but he likes me!’ He signalled to one of the other barrow boys to keep an eye on his stall and joined her.

      ‘Thank you,’ Lucy said, because she hated asking stallholders for their bargains. Some of them just told her to clear off, others made her uncomfortable by hinting that they’d be more than willing to help her if she obliged them – and, understanding what they meant, Lucy always backed away, shaking her head.

      She was innocent; and yet, brought up in the rough streets that surrounded the East India Docks, she could not be unaware of the realities of life, of the whores who paraded up and down outside the taverns on a Friday and Saturday night, flaunting their almost naked breasts, hoping to relieve the men of a few shillings from their pay before it all went on drink.

      Lucy was a pretty, delicate girl with a pale complexion and fair hair, her eyes more green than blue, and in the summer she got little brown freckles over her nose and cheeks, which she hated. She’d been propositioned more than once when fetching two pennyworth of gin for her mother’s cough of an evening. Mary Soames knew well enough that the gin did nothing for her cough, but it relieved her misery a little and Lucy never refused to do her mother’s bidding, though had Pa been home he would not have approved.

      Now, she walked beside Eric to the stall where the big, red-faced butcher was busily chopping up a chicken for a customer. Very few of the women who bought from him could ever afford to buy a whole one for roasting. However, the large boiling fowls that made up the biggest part of his stock were always available and Todd obliged his customers by dividing them into segments. Eric hadn’t quite told Lucy the truth when he said Todd had to take the worst cuts home at the end of the day, because there was always someone willing to pay a few coppers for a parcel of bits and pieces.

      ‘What do yer want then, little toad?’ Todd asked Eric but the insult was more a caress, because the two were good friends.

      ‘My friend Lucy wants chicken she can make into pot meals for her family,’ Eric said and gave him a wink. ‘What ’ave yer got fer a bob?’

      Todd stared at Lucy for a long moment and then nodded. ‘I’ve got half a dozen backbones ’ere, lass, three thighs, four drumsticks and half a dozen wings. My missus won’t use ’em and I’ll be packin’ up in ten minutes. I reckon yer can ’ave the lot.’

      ‘Thank you!’ Lucy smiled. ‘Are you sure I can have all that for one shillin’?’

      ‘Aye, lass, yer can,’ the butcher said. ‘There be some giblets an’ all; they make good tasty gravy or soup and I’ll chuck them in fer nothin’.’

      Lucy wondered at his generosity, but the offer was so tempting that she couldn’t refuse, because with the shilling left to her she could buy a small heel of cheese, eggs as well as veg from Eric. Josh did so love cheese, though it was a treat he didn’t often get.

      ‘You’re very kind, sir,’ she said but the big man shook his head.

      ‘I reckon you be Matthew Soames’ girl,’ he told her. ‘I remembers him – a good man what did me more than one favour. You come to me every week you fancy chicken and I’ll save me bits fer yer.’

      Lucy thanked him, took her parcel wrapped in newspaper, and walked away with Eric, who’d left his stall to the care of one of the other barrow boys. Neither of them noticed the man staring at her from across the road, a gentleman, by his appearance, but with a sour, angry expression that made him look ugly. Lucy paused to buy a small segment of cheese and four eggs from the stall next to Eric’s and by the time she turned back to him, he had a large packet of veg ready for her. He took her sixpence and grinned.

      ‘I hope Josh enjoys his dinner,’ Eric said. ‘I’m always ’ere, Lucy, lass. If yer ever need ’elp, you come to me.’ The look in his eyes made her blush, but she knew he meant no harm.

      Lucy turned for home, her large rush basket heavy over her arm. She had a long walk ahead and it was bitterly cold, but there was a warm glow inside her as she thought of what she could make with her purchases. In her hurry to get home, she did not notice that she was followed. One of her neighbours met her and walked the rest of the way with her. Neither saw the scowling face of the man who turned away, thwarted of his prey.

      ‘Where did you get all this lot?’ Lucy mother asked as she unpacked her basket, revealing the onions, a stick of aromatic celery, carrots, parsnips, a turnip, a large winter cabbage and three oranges that were in Eric’s parcel. ‘I told you to spend no more than two shillin’s. I need the rest of your wages for the rent or the landlord will put us out on the street.’

      ‘I spent what you told me,’ Lucy replied, flinching as she received a slap on her ear. She pressed a hand to her ear, looking at Mary indignantly. ‘What was that for, Ma?’

      ‘You’re lyin’ to me or you’ve been doin’ somethin’ you shouldn’t,’ her mother said harshly. Her thin face was pale and her mouth was pursed in a bitter line. ‘I’ve told you not to ask for charity.’

      ‘I didn’t!’ Lucy protested, though she knew the butcher had been generous, partly because of her father and partly because Eric had told him she was his friend. ‘The butcher couldn’t sell these bits and he was packin’ up; they wouldn’t keep until Monday.’

      ‘I’m ill, not a fool,’ her mother said. ‘There’s plenty would buy these leg joints from him – but if he was packin’ up mebbe …’ She frowned. ‘That still doesn’t explain all these veg – and them oranges! It must have cost a shillin’ at least.’

      Lucy knew Eric had been too generous, but he liked her and he’d wanted to show it; however, she couldn’t tell her mother that, because she would immediately think that Lucy had let him touch her. Lucy knew it happened. She’d seen it often enough, a giggling girl and her chap in the shadows, and her mother was bound to think the worst, because she’d lectured Lucy about the dangers of letting men touch her, from the day she was ten.

      ‘I swear I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t like.’ Lucy crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I swear it on Pa’s memory.’

      Her mother’s eyes snapped at her angrily but she said nothing, just turned to take the bread she’d baked from the cupboard in the corner. It was a handsome mahogany piece and Lucy had noticed