A Daughter’s Sorrow. Cathy Sharp

you, our Bridget?’

      ‘No, o’ course not! I never heard the like. He’s a decent bloke. I like him. I just hope he doesn’t leave us. Mam would lose her rag. What made you ask me that, Tommy?’

      ‘Nothing. I just wondered if he was one of them what tried it on with you.’

      ‘No, he isn’t. Mr Ryan from next door tries it on when he’s drunk – pinchin’ my bum that’s all. He’d better not let Maggie see or she’ll go for him with the rolling pin. Do you remember in the summer when she chased him all the way down the lane?’

      Tommy nodded. He had lost interest in the conversation and said he was going out the back to the lawy. I reminded him to wash his hands before he went to school. He nodded and promptly forgot my instructions as he shot through the kitchen without so much as a good morning to the lodger.

      Mr Phillips was just preparing to leave for the day. I thought how smart he looked in his dark overcoat and bowler hat. He worked as an accountant in a big import firm on the docks and earned more in a week than I could in months. I knew how important it was that he continued to live with us and pay his rent of ten shillings a week.

      ‘Was your breakfast satisfactory, Mr Phillips?

      ‘The bacon you cooked was very nice.’

      ‘Have a good day at work, sir.’

      ‘I shall have a busy day,’ he replied. ‘I’m afraid no days are particularly good ones for me. Good morning, Bridget.’

      I stared after him as he went out. I hadn’t thought of him as being a miserable sort of man, though he was a bit odd sometimes.

      However, I certainly hadn’t got time to puzzle over it now. I’d better scrub the stairs and get off to the brewery or I would be late for work.

      As I crossed the cobbled yard to the brewery office. I heard a shrill wolf whistle. Men were loading heavy barrels on to the wagons ready to deliver the beer to pubs all over the East End, and the smell of the horses mixed with the sharp odour from the brewery sheds. I didn’t bother to turn my head at the whistle because I knew who was responsible. It was that Ernie Cole. The cheeky devil! He drove a wagon and two lovely great shire horses for Mr Dawson – and thought he owned the world.

      Well, he might be a tall strong lad with a fine pair of shoulders, but I wasn’t about to encourage his cheek. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing I’d heard, so I stuck my head in the air and walked on by.

      I supposed I liked him in a way, but I never gave him the chance to get too close. I rather enjoyed putting him down and seeing his face fall. He was too sure of himself for his own good!

      He was after walking out with me, I knew, but I wasn’t interested in anything like that. Not yet anyway. I was seventeen and a few months – too young for courting. Besides, I wanted to get on a bit in my job if I could and Mr Dawson thought a lot of me.

      Mrs Dawson had told me that only the previous day: ‘My husband thinks you might take my place as his secretary one day, Bridget. He would like me to take things a little easier, stay at home and meet my friends.’

      ‘Take your place?’ I had stared at her in surprise. ‘But I could never do all the things you do, Mrs Dawson.’ I had never dreamed of such a thing until she put the idea into my head, but I had liked it at once.

      ‘Why not? You’re bright, careful and industrious. I think it entirely possible that you could learn to do everything I do.’

      ‘But how?’

      ‘Well, I can teach you a lot of it,’ Edith Dawson replied. ‘But my husband feels it might be worth paying for you to have special tuition. There are places where you can learn in the evenings after work. You might even learn to use one of those machines – typewriters I think they are called.’

      I hadn’t known how to keep my joy to myself as I’d hurried home the previous evening. I had hoped to tell Lainie my good news when she came to bed, but the row had put it out of my head.

      Stephen Dawson was waiting for me as I entered the office. He grinned at me. ‘Pop the kettle on, Miss O’Rourke,’ he said. He called me that sometimes just to tease me. ‘We’ll have a cuppa before we start, shall we?’

      ‘Oh, yes, please,’ I said. ‘I didn’t get one this morning and I’m proper parched, so I am.’ I glanced round the small office. ‘Mrs Dawson not in the mornin’?’

      ‘No – she had some shopping up town,’ he said. ‘Wants to buy herself some fripperies I dare say. Our daughter is getting wed after Christmas. We heard the news last night.’

      ‘That’s grand news,’ I said. ‘Give Miss Jane my love and tell her I hope she will be very happy. Lainie might be getting wed soon. She told me last night that her feller had asked her.’

      ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Though I’ll be sorry to lose your sister when she leaves. She’s been a good worker.’

      ‘She might have to leave before the wedding,’ I said as I remembered she’d told me she was going to Mrs Macpherson’s. ‘You haven’t heard from her the mornin’?’

      ‘No – not yet, though she may have spoken to the foreman.’ He glanced through the window, which had rivulets of water trickling down the glass because of the cold outside. ‘Ah, I just need to speak to Ernie before he leaves.’

      ‘You’ll catch him if you hurry.’

      I went through to the little kitchen at the back of the office. I filled a kettle from the tap over a deep stone sink, then lit the gas stove and put the water on to boil. I set the cups out on a tray – blue and white china they were and not one of them chipped – then poured milk from the can into a matching jug so that I wouldn’t spill it as I served the tea. Mrs Dawson was most particular. She liked things nice and hated the smell of stale milk on her pretty tray cloths.

      I picked up a thickly padded holder as the kettle began to whistle. The copper handle got hot and I didn’t want to burn my fingers. I had a lot of copying to do that morning.

      ‘Bridget …’ I turned as Mr Dawson called to me from the doorway. ‘Leave that for a moment. I want to talk to you.’

      My heart caught with fright. ‘Have I done something wrong, sir?’

      He shook his head but looked displeased. ‘You’ve done nothing, Bridget … but your brother, Jamie, is in trouble yet again.’

      ‘What has he done?’

      ‘Apparently he was in a fight last night. The police want someone to go down to the station and sign for him. He’s in a bit of a state and they won’t let him go unless a member of his family takes him home.’

      ‘What do you mean in a state – is he hurt?’

      ‘I think he may have been hurt during the arrest. The police couldn’t find Mrs O’Rourke so they sent a young constable here. I really can’t have this sort of thing, Bridget. This is a respectable business.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I said as I reached for my shawl. ‘I’ll come back as soon as I can, sir – and I’ll make up the time later.’

      Mr Dawson nodded, but he was still frowning. This was the second time in as many months that the police had sent for someone to fetch Jamie, and he wasn’t pleased that his brewery should be associated with a known troublemaker.

      I was anxious as I left the brewery office and hurried across the yard, ignoring Ernie Cole as he called out to me. He’d asked if I wanted a lift, which meant he knew where I was going. Everyone would know! I felt humiliated as I left the yard and set off in the direction of the police station, some ten minutes’ walk away.

      Jamie was such a fool to himself when the drink was in him. Most of the time he was a good-natured, cheerful and generous man. There was violence in Jamie; it simmered beneath the surface, erupting every now and then in uncontrollable