Free One Blue Moon by Catrin Collier Page A

feelingly.
    ‘You left there when you were five. It could have changed since then,’ Gina said.
    ‘Places like Bardi never change,’ Ronnie replied firmly. ‘If you’re going, you’d better move,’ he shouted angrily, irked by the lot of them.
    ‘Oh God, Ronnie, I’m awfully sorry.’ Alma Moore ran in breathlessly, her red hair soaking wet, plastered to her beautifully shaped head, and her coat flapping, open to the cold wind and the rain. ‘I didn’t want to walk through town in this downpour, but all the trams were running late,’ she explained. ‘And then the one I was on was held up by a brewery cart that had pulled up all skew-whiff opposite the fountain.’
    ‘I must remember to complain to the tram company for delaying my staff,’ Ronnie snapped humourlessly. He stared at his brothers and sisters. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Off with the lot of you,’ he commanded. ‘There’s no point in my trying to keep you here. I won’t get another ounce of work out of any of you with your heads stuffed full of Hollywood nonsense.’
    ‘Thanks, Ronnie,’ Tina said heavily.
    Tony hung his apron behind the door, then as he passed the counter on the way out, he reached towards a box of P.K. chewing gum. Ronnie grabbed his wrist before his fingers could close over a packet.
    ‘Not until you give me a penny.’ Ronnie held out his hand.
    ‘Ronnie, come on ...’
    ‘Come on nothing! I’ll not have anyone, especially family, eating my profits.’
    Tony fumbled in his pocket and handed over a penny.
    ‘Bye, Ronnie. Hurry up, Tony.’ Angelo, Tina and Gina had their coats on and were holding open the door.
    ‘Have a good time,’ Alma called after them. ‘I know you’ll enjoy the film.’
    ‘They’ll enjoy anything that involves sitting on their arses and doing no work,’ Ronnie commented scathingly.
    ‘Just us tonight, then.’ Ignoring his griping Alma glanced around the café. Apart from a couple of market boys on tea break the place was empty.
    ‘Just us.’ Ronnie carried a tray of pies out from the kitchen and heaved them on to the shelf next to the steamer.
    ‘What happens if it gets busy?’
    ‘We’ve plenty of pies, and Tony’s left some cooked dinners that can be heated up.’
    ‘And if the customers want egg, bacon and chips?’
    ‘You’ll have to watch the front while I make them. It’s never that busy when the weather’s like this. We’ll manage.’ He pushed a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a silver lighter. She smiled at him and he gave her a scarcely perceptible wink, as he turned to one of the market traders.
    ‘A tea, a pie and a Chelsea?’
    ‘That’s right Ronnie.’
    ‘Seeing as how it’s you, we’ll call it ninepence. And cheap at half the price,’ he mocked in market-style patter.
    Diana had plenty of time to think over her day as she walked up the Graig hill towards Graig Avenue. Darkness had settled over the mountain, black, glittering with silver raindrops caught in the glow of the street lamps. The slate roofs of the terraced houses shone, slabs of polished jet. The blank, staring front windows reminding her of the sightless eyes of the blind in the Infirmary. Occasionally an odd square of etched glass above a front door shone with a dim, subdued passage light. No one on the Graig lived in their front parlour. Even the cold, laid fires of coal and sticks traditionally set up in the grates of the front rooms against celebration or trouble times had been raided in most homes. Every stick and lump of coal was needed for the kitchen range.
    Slowing her steps, she walked beneath the shadow of the high wall of the workhouse. She jumped in shock as a basket appeared from nowhere and hit her on the head as it was lowered none too gently over the wall.
    ‘Psst! Psst!’ A harsh, cracked, disembodied voice grated through the darkness. ‘Psst!’
    ‘I’ve got it,’ she whispered. Catching the string, she pulled the basket into her