“No lass.
You’re wrong. There’s something not fitting here.” Mary would have none of
Millie’s antics.
“You’re not
stirring them bloody tea leaves again, are ye, Millie?”
“Well, I may
have had a small gander at them. And what if I have? Eh? I am just looking out
for you and, well, I don’t want you to get hurt. He’s a violent man Mary!”
Going between the mills and the convent she
was exhausted by the time she got home, sometimes falling asleep straight away,
forgetting to eat sometimes for days.
Lifting the
latch on this particular evening, Mary sensed there was someone in the house.
Walking into the scullery there stood Larry red faced and swaying.
“Where the
feckin' hell were ye woman?” The words he spat at her sent shivers of fear
through her body.
Trying to calm
him, she slowly walked towards him, smiling nervously, putting her hand on his
chest. “Now Larry, I’ve been working. You know, I have to do two shifts
sometimes.”
She landed on
the flagstone floor, not having seen his fist come and with a thud he had
knocked her clean out. Kicking her out of the way, he then walked out of the
house.
Millie had
been watching from her front window and, seeing him leave; she nipped out the
back through the alley and pushed with force to open Mary’s back door where she
was lying.
“Oh sweet
Jesus. Has he killed you?”
Lifting her
friend and pulling her medicine bottle from her overcoat she poured some of the
whiskey into Mary’s mouth. With a spurt she came round.
“Oh feck. What
happened lass?”
“Oh Millie,
it’s nothing really.”
“Nothing my
bloody arse! I told you that one is a bad dun. Make no mistake, I’m never far
wrong.”
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