A Silver Lining Read Free

nine o’clock bell, and she couldn’t wait.
    ‘I’ll take a bag, please, Charlie.’ She thrust a three penny bit and a penny at William’s boss, a stocky, broad built, muscular man with white-blond hair and possibly the palest skin in the valleys. She’d always thought of Charlie as tall, but now, seeing him standing next to William she realised that he was a good three or four inches shorter than William’s six feet two.
    He picked up a bag from the back of the row laid out on the slab behind him. ‘Keep it separate from the rest of your shopping. The blood will stain everything it touches,’ he warned in a guttural accent that sounded exotic to ears accustomed to the Welsh lilt. ‘And Merry Christmas.’
    ‘Merry Christmas to you, Charlie.’
    ‘Catch!’
    A soft parcel wrapped in newspaper flew through the air, landing on top of the bag Charlie had given her. She peeled back a corner of the paper and saw shining green wool. ‘Happy Christmas, Alma.’ Bobby Thomas was already out of reach, separated from her by the mass of bargain hunters homing in on the offer on Charlie’s stall. ‘I’ll be around to pick up my present in the New Year,’ he leered over the heads of the crowd.
    ‘I don’t want this ...’
    It was too late. Bobby had his back to her and was halfway through the door. She’d never catch up with him now. A sick feeling stole over her as she stared at the parcel. She could throw it away, but if she did it would only get picked up by someone who might or might not keep it. And if they didn’t, where would they take it? To the police station? Without a name or address, the constables wouldn’t be able to return it to Bobby. She could take it back to Wilf Horton but there was no guarantee that he’d be seeing Bobby either. Either way it was doubtful Bobby Thomas would get to hear of her gesture, and come next rent day he’d turn up on her doorstep to claim the ‘present’ he expected in return.
    She’d begun to dread rent days since Ronnie had left. Bobby had taken to lingering in their kitchen, making lewd suggestions, and when she’d threatened to report him to her landlord he’d pointed out that he was the one with position and standing in the town, not her.
    Rage at the gossips who’d destroyed her reputation vied with an anger directed against Bobby as she thrust the parcel under her arm and struggled out of the crowd into the haberdashery, toy and sweet market.
    ‘Christmas bag do you, Alma?’ Mrs Walker asked, as Alma hesitated before her stall.
    ‘How much?’
    ‘Three pence for two giant coconut ice sticks, a bag of toffee scrapings, assortment of boiled sweets and liquorice laces. Sixpence for a bigger helping of everything except the coconut ice sticks, plus four chocolates.’
    Alma’s mouth watered at the prospect of chocolates, but she remembered the extravagance Bobby had driven her into at Horton’s stall. ‘Three penny bag, please.’
    ‘Seeing as how it’s you, and Christmas, I’ll do the sixpenny offer for five pence,’ Mrs Walker offered temptingly.
    Alma hesitated. It was Christmas Eve. Perhaps a customer would leave a tip. One of the bus crew perhaps...’I’ll take it,’ she answered impulsively. ‘Thank you Mrs Walker, and a Merry Christmas.’
    ‘And a Merry Christmas to you, dear. Remember me to your mother.’ She handed over a paper cone of confectionery.
    Pushing the sweets deep into the carrier bag of clothes, Alma turned on her heel and elbowed her way to the fruit market. Picking a stall that sold Christmas trees as well as fruit, she negotiated the price for the lot down to nine pence. If she didn’t spend another penny, she’d be able to pay the rent –just. She blanched at the thought of the grocer’s bill they’d run up in Hopkins’ corner shop. If she didn’t settle something off it soon, they’d lose their credit. She really needed a Christmas tip. St Catherine’s clock struck again as she left the indoor market for Taff