Free Rough Justice by Gilda O'Neill Page B

You know what that’s like, Nell, don’t you, coming from the home and everything. So, how about it? Us getting engaged? Cos I know it’s what I want.’
    Nell put her hand to her mouth. Had she heard him right? ‘Do you mean engaged, like engaged to be married?’ she asked through her fingers.
    ‘Sort of, yeah.’ Stephen sniffed, considering his words. ‘But there can’t be no marriage, of course, because even though she might have run out on me and her own children, I’m still married to my Violet, remember. So you won’t be able to go setting your heart on no wedding day or anything like that. But how about it? Me and you?’
    Nell was astonished; this man actually wanted her. It would be just like having a family of her own, and she’d have her very own place to live and everything. And it wasn’t as if he had any choice about getting married properly – not for now, at least. But who knew what might happen in the future?
    She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded and took a sip of her lemonade.

Chapter 11
    A week later, Sylvia stood grim-faced behind the bar of the Hope and Anchor, while Bernie made sure that everyone had a drink in their hand to celebrate Stephen and Nell’s engagement – their ‘happy day’, as everyone except Sylvia seemed to be calling it. There was no denying it, Nell looked beautiful. She was wearing a simple ivory satin sheath dress and matching coat, adorned with the pearl and gold brooch, Sylvia’s fox-fur stole that she’d loaned her for the day, and a little veiled hat that was just right – unlike this sham of an engagement that couldn’t even lead to a marriage, and most definitely wasn’t right in any way at all.
    Since Nell had come bursting into the pub last Sunday with her supposedly good news, Sylvia had done everything she could think of to make her see sense, to persuade her that it was ridiculous even to contemplate getting engaged to Stephen rotten Flanagan. But in her usual sweet way Nell had told Sylvia not to worry about her, and that moving in with Stephen would be just like being given a ready-made family – perfect. Even God would forgive her, Nell went on, as he would understand thatStephen couldn’t help it that his wife had run away from him and his poor children.
    Sylvia thought, but didn’t have the heart to say, that it wasn’t God she was bloody worried about, and having two kids who were at least four years older than you – if not more – was hardly having a ready-made family.
    ‘Come on, Sylv,’ Bernie said, nudging his wife, as he pulled yet another pint. ‘At least it’ll give her a bit of security, and Stephen’s right taken with her, anyone can see that. And, be fair, you couldn’t expect the kid to stay here with us for the rest of her natural.’
    ‘You said it, Bern – she’s a kid. Just a kid. And he’s a dirty old man. Our Nelly deserves better than him. Much better.’
    ‘Well, I think she should be thanking her lucky stars. For a start he’s got that place in Turnbury Buildings. Little palaces everyone says they are. Even got their own lavs and a communal wash house.’
    Sylvia looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. ‘You’ve never even washed a rotten handkerchief, so what do you know about wash houses? Communal or bloody otherwise.’
    He shrugged. ‘I hear people talking. Cos people do talk in boozers, you know. And she won’t have to go carting stuff down the public baths like she does for us no more.’
    ‘No, but guess who’ll be using the
communal wash house
morning, noon and night? My little Nelly, that’s who. She’ll be nothing more than askivvy for the three of them, you just wait and see.’
    ‘She’s not much more than that here really, is she Sylv?’ Bernie handed the foaming glass across the counter to a customer keen to get his share of this unexpected Sunday lunchtime bounty. ‘The girl don’t stop.’
    ‘She’s paid for what she does here. Full board and a fair wage, and I