Soon it would change, transfer its glory to the lumps of coal that were already glimmering at the sharp edges where the yellow flames lapped around them. So was her love transmuted to a higher plane, the better she got to know him. The pure fire of her passion would burn even brighter and for a long, long time, rooted as it was in the less volatile but more substantial substructure of admiration and respect that she had always harboured for Robert. This was the fuel of her emotions, like the coals were the fuel of a long-burning fire. Hers would last her lifetime, young as she was, inexperienced as she was. Instinctively, she knew it.
‘What are you doing up so early?’ a voice said quietly.
Poppy turned around and saw her mother standing at the bedroom door in her nightgown. ‘I woke up early.’
Sheba ran her fingers through her bedraggled hair and yawned. ‘Is it worrying you then, our Poppy?’
‘Is what worrying me?’ She was uncertain as to whether her mother was referring to Robert’s departure.
‘This scheme of Tweedle’s?’
‘What scheme?’
‘You haven’t heard?’
‘Heard what?’
Sheba pulled a chair from under the rickety table and sat down. ‘I thought you must have heard from somebody. Everybody’s talking about it.’
‘Nobody’s told me anything.’
‘He’s running a lottery. A pound a ticket. You’re the prize, our Poppy.’
‘Me?’ Poppy laughed with incredulity. ‘What a cheek. Who does he think he is?’
‘Well, he’s the breadwinner.’ Sheba, unsmiling, hunched her shoulders and pressed her hands together between her thighs for warmth and Poppy perceived from her mannerisms that it was not a joke. ‘I reckon he must think that keeping us gives him the right.’
‘The right? What sort of prize am I supposed to be? Does whoever wins the lottery expect a kiss or something?’ she asked naively.
‘Oh, more than a kiss, our Poppy. The deal is that you jump the broomstick with the winner.’
‘What! I’ll kill meself first. What if it’s somebody like Crabface Lijah or Fatbuck?’
‘On the other hand, what about if it’s Jericho or the Masher?’
‘The Masher’s all right. But I wouldn’t want to sleep with him.’
‘Well, as I see it, you’ve got no say in the matter, our Poppy. And I don’t see as it matters any road, now your Robert Crawford’s gone. One chap’s much like another in the dark, our Poppy, when you’m a-lying under him. And it was no good setting your cap at him any road. He would never have stooped to a navvy’s daughter.’
‘Yes, he would,’ Poppy protested. ‘He loves me.’
‘Ah …’ Sheba nodded mockingly. ‘That must be why he’s buggered off …’ She rolled her eyes at what she perceived as Poppy’s naivety. ‘Listen, our Poppy, I want you to go along with this scheme of Tweedle’s, ’cause it’ll bring in a heap o’ money at the end o’ the month, he reckons. I’m hoping as I’ll be able to have me a new coat and a new pair o’ boots for the winter out of the proceeds. And I daresay as he’ll treat you as well.’
Her mother’s attitude implied far more than mere profit to Poppy. ‘So, you’m letting him believe he’s the father of the child you’m carrying then?’
‘I might as well,’ Sheba admitted with a shrug. ‘There’s no sense in upsetting the apple cart now. Who else would look after us and keep us on the outside of the workhouse?’
Poppy appreciated her mother’s dilemma but made no comment. That she should be a sacrifice to her mother’s wellbeing, however, did not fill her with joy. On the other hand, she could be neither the instrument of her downfall, nor the downfall of her brothers and sisters. There seemed little alternative but to go along with Tweedle’s scheme, however abhorrent. Whatever fate awaited her, she could accept it passively; it would be as nothing compared to her losing Robert. Then what if Robert returned in a year and wanted to tell her he wished her to be his bride after all? Well, she would not have the opportunity to discover it. She would be none the wiser; therefore, nor would he be. By then she might be miles away, living on some far distant railway construction site, already the bed partner of another man. By then she might be carrying a child or have one at her breast. So better to believe he would never come back for her.
‘I don’t see as I’ve got much choice, Mother,’ Poppy said.
If Robert were still here it would be different. She would go to him, tell him what had been planned for her and take his advice. But he had gone. He could give her no advice, offer no help. She was at the mercy of Tweedle Beak, who only wanted to exploit her. There was nobody to talk to. Least of all the men, who must surely condone the scheme without exception. She was at a dead end.
‘Well, the fire’s caught nice, our Poppy,’ Sheba remarked. ‘Let’s get the kettle on.’
The fire …
The fire symbolised her love for Robert. Whatever happened, whoever she was expected to live with and lie by, that flame of love would never extinguish. So she resigned herself to the necessity of tolerating the unwanted fumblings of a man she did not love, found repulsive and had no respect for, while her poor heart forever ached for Robert Crawford.
Dog Meat’s financial difficulties were made worse by the need to obtain a new pair of work boots from the tommy shop. Having tried them on for size and comfort, he signed for them, then trudged out into the clinging mud of that first Monday in September. His mates mocked him when they saw him, some asking whether they were made of pig skin, others whether he had made a pig of himself with Minnie on his day off. He suffered ribald and insensitive comments about Jericho and Minnie. His standing in the community had diminished, he had lost whatever esteem he had previously earned, and he was painfully aware of it. Nor was Minnie sympathetic. It reflected badly on her that she was still associated with him after her apparent conquest of Jericho had been made common knowledge. Dog Meat clung to her, however, like a man drowning in a river clings to a tuft of overhanging grass as the current tries to pull him under.
The new Parkhead Viaduct straddled three prongs of a watery fork that was the junction of three canals. It was built entirely of wood. Sturdy trestles supported the thick planking above, which drummed beneath the abrasive scrunch of two hundred pairs of leather boots, stomping out of step across the span. Dog Meat was one of the men traversing the viaduct on his way to the cutting, avoiding the company of other navvies. Suddenly, he was aware of another person walking alongside him and he turned his head with resentment to see who.
‘Morning, Dog Meat. Smart new boots th’ast got there.’
‘Buttercup! Don’t you start! I’m pig-sick o’ folk taunting.’
‘Pig-sick, eh?’ Buttercup smiled at Dog Meat’s unwitting self-mockery. ‘Well, I bain’t about to needle thee, lad. I had it in mind to ask what thou thought about Tweedle Beak holding a lottery for young Poppy Silk.’
‘You wanted to ask me?’ Dog Meat queried, looking at Buttercup with an unbelieving eye.
‘Aye,
