Free At the Break of Day by Margaret Graham Page A

was so hot.
    They met outside Jack’s and walked quietly, neither speaking until they reached the end of Middle Street, then cut across to Vernon Terrace, up the alley, down to Futcher’s Walk, picking up the others, picking up Sam. Nothing was said as they approached the wall which ran round the warehouse.
    There were dogs but Jack knew them and called to them quietly. Then he was bunked up and over by Sam who shot Ted up too. Sam went next, the others after. She was to be look-out. Sam would wait the other side of the wall to relay any warning.
    A cyclist approached and Rosie walked slowly on, then back again when he had overtaken. She listened and looked and wished they would goddamn hurry. She thought of Grandpa asleep, of Norah too. She thought of Joe and Sandra, Frank and Nancy, but still she looked and listened for over half an hour and again wished they’d hurry because she was out here on her own.
    There were sounds now, the soft bark of a dog, voices, and Jack called, ‘All clear?’
    It was, and so he threw one cheese, then the other, then scrabbled over himself. It had all been so easy. She had proved herself to Sam, to them all.
    But then they saw the police, walking towards them, dipping in and out of the lamplight, and Jack grabbed her, told her to run, told the others to stay – for Christ’s sake stay behind the wall.
    She felt her fear and his. She thought of Grandpa, and then of Sam, and now the fear was gone. She turned to Jack.
    ‘No, put your arm round me, kiss me.’
    He looked at her, then at the police. He ducked his head and kissed her with soft lips and she hugged him, turning her back, pushing the cheeses up inside her dress, and then they walked towards the police. Everything was quiet, all they could hear were the footsteps walking in time towards them. She didn’t know if they had seen. She didn’t know if a hand would grip her shoulder and her Grandpa would know what she had been doing.
    She held her stomach, walking with legs slightly apart, feeling Jack’s arm around her. It too was tense, trembling, and then she started to cry, asking him why they couldn’t marry, especially with the baby due so soon. She clutched the cheeses to her.
    They were level with the police now and Rosie turned her face into his shoulder. It was warm, as Joe’s had been.
    ‘Just don’t leave me, that’s all. If you won’t marry, don’t leave me.’
    The police looked away, embarrassed, and Jack held her closer, his breath warm in her hair, and his arm was relaxed, warm now because they hadn’t been stopped yet, and maybe they wouldn’t be. He held her close and said that he would stay for ever, but she must eat more calcium, more cheese. Then they were well past the police and near the corner.
    ‘Oh Jack,’ she said, ‘I know the baby will look just like you.’ And now they were round the corner and running, laughing.
    That night she lay in bed, hearing Jack’s voice, feeling his lips on hers. Sam had bought her a ginger beer. Ted had said it would be bad for the baby. She had laughed with them. The anger in them had eased because they had taken what was theirs and she knew she could do that too. She could take back the future which had seemed to be hers until last month. She would have her journalism, somehow, and she would start tomorrow.
    Welcome back, Jack had said when she told him.

CHAPTER 4
    The next day Rosie enrolled at evening secretarial classes which would begin in late September. Frank had joined his paper as a cub reporter after teaching himself shorthand and typing. If college hadn’t been necessary for him, it wouldn’t be for her.
    September was too long to wait, though, so she brought home a shorthand book from the library because she was working towards her future now, this very day. It was the only way she would survive the loss, the separation from that other world, those other people she still loved, still grieved for even though she had Grandpa, the gang, and