The Loom Part 21

This is ridiculous, Leah thought. She was flushed now, not pale as she had been, not knowing whether to laugh or cry as Father O'Donnell droned on, quite oblivious that he was making a mockery of her wedding.

Leah gasped as he wielded the receptacle with holy water as though heaving a sledgehammer, drenching her. This can't be happening, she thought! Then suddenly she wanted to laugh. Her sense of humour never could be contained no matter what the situation and she had to place her hand over her mouth and pretend she was coughing (making it worse because she remembered her mother did this when she tried to cover up that she'd pa.s.sed wind).

A sound came from her between a screech and a gurgle. Paddy began to shake next to her. She daren't look at him. He gripped her hand tightly. She felt better all of a sudden. If she couldn't start their married life with love then laughter was the next best thing. She squeezed Paddy's hand and listened as the priest finally mumbled... 'I now p.r.o.nounce you man and wife.'

PART SIX.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

The ice-cream man made the ice-cream wafer: Wall's ice-cream, the wafer first then packing the ice-cream in, another wafer and, like magic, there it was, mouthwatering, delectable, something which Christine O'Shea would remember, as one of her pleasantest memories.

She paid the man three pence and then licked carefully between the wafers. A slight squeeze for more ice-cream, savouring as the cold sweetness slid like silk down her throat.

'Give me a lick then, Christine!'

Christine stopped in mid-air. Clara Pearson seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. Christine hesitated. 'No, I can't, Clara. Me...I mean my Mam said I 'aven't ...I haven't to give any one a lick, it's dirty and I could catch all sorts of germs.'

'It is not dirty; I do it all the time! You're mean you are Christine O'Shea and if you don't I won't play with you.'

The ice-cream was beginning to drip. Christine looked at Clara dubiously. Her mother had told her never on any account, let other people have a bite, or in this case a lick, of what she was eating because if she did she'd get hundreds of other people's germs. Clara stood with her hands on her hips, scowling. Christine liked playing with Clara and Christine's friends, Anne and Gloria had gone to visit relatives. Suddenly resolving the dilemma Christine thrust the melting ice-cream at Clara.

'You can have it all, Clara, I don't want it and you can give your Tony a bit as well.' She indicated the scruffy little boy standing next to Clara, who was watching the drama in silence, except for his loud breathing (his adenoids, Mrs. Jones from next door said). Tony loved ice-cream!

Christine looked with distaste at Tony, Clara's young brother. He's scruffy, she thought. They're all scruffy, the Pearsons and if her Mam knew she was playing with them she'd be really mad. Clara licked the dripping ice-ream. When she'd finished and the ice-cream no longer dripped, she held it out to Tony.

'Here,' she said, 'but only one lick, our Tony.' She bent down so that her face was close to her brother, whose snotty nose was running like a tap. He wore short dirty pants and his well-scuffed clogs were turned slightly in as he was extremely pigeon-toed.

'You're a little b.u.g.g.e.r, aren't you our Tony?' Clara said again. 'Go on then, have a lick but don't gobble the lot or I'll give you a good hiding.'

Christine watched as Clara made a face at 'our Tony' teasing him with the ice-cream, pulling it away when Tony tried to take it. Clara looked worse than her brother: knees grimed with dirt as though they hadn't been washed for weeks; huge holes in her cardigan, and part of the hem of her pleated skirt had come undone and trailed almost to the ground. Christine looked down on her own immaculately pleated tartan skirt, neat jumper, white socks and polished shoes. If she got dirty her Mam would be mad!

Tony's hand suddenly moved like lightning. He grabbed the ice-cream and was off down the street with it like the wind. Clara gave an outraged yell. 'Come on,' she called to Christine. 'Let's get him.'

Christine watched the rapidly retreating figures. Should she? She began to run after them and the three sped down Queen Street, dodging people and then onto Princes Road where Clara lived. When Christine arrived at the house, Clara had already dealt with her brother, judging from a loud wailing, and she was finishing off the now grubby looking and not at all appetizing wafer.

Mrs. Pearson stood at the table (which took up a large area of the untidy room) kneading a big mound of dough with a decidedly heavy hand. Flour clung to her arms up to her elbows and there was a generous amount on her face, as well as the floor. When she saw Christine peering through the doorway she called out in her usual friendly way.

'Come in, la.s.s, come in, that is if you can find room.' She gave one of the many children in the room a push as he tried to grab some of the dough on the table. 'Get out of it, our Jimmy,' she said, cuffing him again. 'Go on you lot, go and play outside for a bit.'

Christine looked around the none too clean back room, which was used as a kitchen c.u.m living area and was still filled with children in spite of the fact that some had gone outside to play. Clara had told Christine that she had six brothers and three sisters and Christine had been awed into silence as she digested this. She had made a quick calculation and discovered that with Mr. & Mrs. Pearson and Clara that made twelve in the family. Twelve people in this one small house (a two up, two down terrace), which was identical to her Grandma's house in Glebe Street only this one was a lot dirtier!

Christine gazed in wonder at Mrs. Pearson, who was short and round like a roly poly pudding. She was so different from her Mam! Mrs. Pearson continued to knead the dough, her youngest child, two years old and just as grubby as the rest of the family, still clung to her mother's leg. She peeped shyly at Christine with big round eyes as she sucked noisily on her thumb.

'Now come on, our Mary, leave go of me leg,' Mrs. Pearson said, trying to shake her off. 'It's only Christine. You know Christine. Now don't be a big baby. Here our Nellie, get hold of Mary or she's going to look like a flour bag's. .h.i.t her.'

Christine edged slowly into the kitchen. Her Mam would have a fit if she could see where she was. But in spite of the crowded dirty house the Pearsons always seemed happy, especially Mrs. Pearson who laughed in her booming laugh at nothing most of the time. And Mrs. Pearson was always home when Christine visited. She hardly saw her Mam during the week because she was usually at the shop and often wouldn't get home until after six. Not that she thought Mrs. Pearson was a patch on her mother. Oh, no never! She thought her Mam was lovely! She made beautiful clothes and she always looked beautiful as well, but still, it would have been nice to get home from school and see her mother standing at the table, her arms in flour and good smell coming from the oven.

And of course their house was a lot cleaner than this and she looked uneasily around her, remembering suddenly that her mother had told her only yesterday that a lot of people in Princes Road had nits. She looked around fearfully again, as though expecting an army of 'nits and donkeys' to come marching in the door, or out from under the carpet. She studied the children worriedly and was relieved to see that none of them seemed to be itching, which was evidently a sign that you had them.

She edged slowly towards the chair indicated by Mrs. Pearson, stepping over discarded saucepan lids, pieces of cardboard, a large spoon, an old dish and various other odds and ends. An old and extremely dirty rag doll with no face and only one arm lay on the chair and Christine picked it up gingerly before sitting down.

Mrs. Pearson smiled at Christine. Half her front teeth were missing. Christine was shocked. She could never imagine her Mam with no teeth! It looked really horrible. She only just managed to repress a shudder.

'Just throw that thing on the floor,' Mrs. Pearson said, indicating the doll. 'That'll not make much difference. Ee, it's always like a pig-sty in here, there're all that untidy.'

Christine smiled timidly and watched Mrs. Pearson thump and roll until a large, almost round thin piece of pastry took shape. She put it on a large pie dish and then ladelled wimberries into it. Christine's mouth watered. Wimberry pie! She loved wimberry pie! Mrs. Pearson deftly rolled another piece of pastry and placed it on top of the wimberries, pressed the edges together, lifted the plate on one hand and cut off the overhanging bits, her movements like lightning as the plate seemed to whiz around on her hand like a top.

'Well, that's done,' Mrs. Pearson exclaimed in satisfaction as she put the pie in the oven. Now all I've got to do is the apple pie, then I've finished.'

Apple pie as well, Christine thought longingly. Clara was so lucky to have a mother who could cook. They had nice food at home, but it was often bought at the Palatine and although she liked it, it wasn't like homemade, not like her Grandma made, anyway.

Then she felt guilty. Her mother didn't have the time for a lot of cooking, but still, and she looked again at the apple pie Mrs. Pearson was now making, it would have been nice to go home to homemade wimberry!

Thinking about home made her look quickly at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was making a loud ticking noise so it must be working, although one of the small legs had come off and it was leaning as though it would topple over any minute. It was half past four, she thought proudly, for not many in her cla.s.s could tell the time properly and some of them were seven and she had only just turned six!

She sidled off the chair. 'I'll have to go now, Mrs. Pearson. Me and Stephen have to pick Julia up at the nursery before five o'clock.'

Mrs. Pearson wiped her hands on a ragged bit of cloth. 'Aye, all right then, love; would you like a piece of parkin to eat going home?'

Christine thought again of all the germs and nits and reluctantly declined. 'No thank you, Mrs. Pearson.' She looked over to where Clara was sitting on the settee. 'I'm going now, Clara, ta-ra.'

'Aye, ta-ra, thanks for the ice-cream.'

Christine walked up Queen Street, looking in all the shop windows, the haberdashery shop, the butchers, Smithson's cake shop, which didn't have much in it at the moment. She saw Stephen further up. She called and waved and he looked up from a conversation he was having with some boys. He lifted his hand slightly. Christine hurried on, smiling. Ee, she loved their Stephen! Oh, she'd forgotten, she was not to say 'their Stephen' or even 'our Stephen' or 'ee' because her mother said it was too 'colloqy' or something or other. But it was hard not to when everyone else said it and she'd even heard her mother say it once or twice, and then quickly correct herself. She was also having difficulty putting all the 'h's' in the right place and saying my Mam instead of me Mam.

'We'd better go and pick Julia up now, Stephen because we promised Mam we'd clear up before she came home and set the table for tea.'

Stephen pulled a wry face. 'Aye, I'd better get 'ome or I'll catch it.' He beckoned to Christine as he strode off ahead of her. She ran to catch up.

'Mam'll go mad at you. You know you have to say yes, not aye and home not 'ome.'

'I know, I know,' Stephen said irritably and kicked a stone out of his way. 'But they'll think I'm a real namby-pamby if I talk like that.' He kicked another stone despondently. It was hard living up to his mother's high expectations. He frowned, his black hair flopping over his forehead, eyes bleak.

He was quite aware of the circ.u.mstances surrounding his birth, as was everyone else in Harwood evidently. Because of this he felt he stood apart from his friends. In some vague way it made him different and he didn't want to be different. He wanted to fit in, to be easy as part of the gang. How many fights had he got into to prove himself, he thought? He'd lost count there had been so many, going home with a black eye or bruised cheek, clothes torn and dirty and his Mam going mad at him. He just felt that he didn't belong and there was always a bit of tension when he was around. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets and walked the rest of the way in silence. Christine glanced worriedly at him from time to time.

Ever since she could remember, from the time she was a toddler, she'd been Stephen's shadow. She had even followed him to school until finally they had let her attend, even though she was still considered too young (the baby cla.s.s at St. Wulstan's). There seemed to be no way to stop her, short of tying her up. There was no one in the world like Stephen! Not even her dad and she loved her dad. But Stephen was different! He was good and kind and the best brother any one could ever have, in spite of his occasional bad temper (like now).

Leah placed the closed sign on the front door of the shop. She locked and bolted it and then let herself out the back way, banging the door shut behind her. She walked down the lane and onto the Square. Fred Stokes was picking up litter round the Mercer Clock. Every now and then he would stop and itch. He must have them, too, she thought. There seemed to be such a lot of people with nits lately.

Every now and then there would be an outbreak of lice and she was horrified that she, and especially the children, would get them. They spread like wild fire and if it was one thing she couldn't abide it was the thought of little animals running around in her hair. She shivered with revulsion. She was scrupulously clean and thought thankfully of the lovely bathroom they now had at Belmont Road. But her children, they were another matter. They could catch them from anyone at school and she had a sudden vision of hundreds of lice jumping joyfully from a dirty head to the clean heads of her children and she shivered again...uh...horrible!

She looked at Fred for a moment longer as she put her umbrella. It had begun to rain, again! Fred was like a walking clock! At twenty past five he would arrive to pick up rubbish and at five thirty on the dot he would look at his own watch and check the time on the clock. He made sure the clock kept good time. At ten each morning he would get the correct time from the Post Office and then check again in the evening. He was meticulous about this even though he might not be about his personal cleanliness!

Leah glanced around the Square as she set off for home. It was almost deserted. It looked dreary and the constant drizzle added to the gloom. The rain trickled down the shop windows and she gave a sigh. She felt dreary, too. She shouldn't because the shop was doing well, in spite of the worsening economic conditions.

She had, in fact, been thinking of opening another shop in Accrington. She had good clientele there and even as far as Blackpool. But she'd been dithering about it because Paddy wasn't keen on the idea. She gave one last look in the window where her latest creation was tastefully arranged: a black taffeta dress on which she'd hand-painted large pink roses down one side of the skirt. She'd got the idea out of a magazine. That dress had taken her an age, but had been well worth the effort. She had so many orders she could hardly keep up with the demand. If only other things were going as well, she'd be happy!

She hurried across the Square because the rain was now pelting down, hard as pebbles and pinging loudly off the umbrella. It was cold, too, and she shivered in her mac, her high heels filling with rain. She should have brought her Wellington's but she'd forgotten in her rush to get Christine and Stephen ready for school, then her usual morning dash down to the bottom of the road with Julia where the car waited to take her to the nursery a few streets away. It was all rush, rush, rush lately and sometimes she felt so tired she wanted to sell the shop, not buy another one. Her tiredness, however, was not only due to her workload. She was depressed lately, increasingly so, mainly due to Paddy.

She'd known their marriage wouldn't be heaven made, but had been optimistic they could make a go of it. Unfortunately, things hadn't turned out that way.

The early part of the marriage had gone smooth enough, but gradually, because she'd been incapable of returning Paddy's ardour, his had cooled. The years had crept by, they were busy with work, with the children and then other insidious factors had crept in. One of these was drink! Her mother had tempered stories of her father with humour, had kept to herself the terrible toll, which being married to a drunkard had taken. In spite of Emma's attempts to make light of her life with Harold, Leah had been repulsed by drink, or not so much the drink, for she would have one herself occasionally just to be sociable, but the over indulging.

It had been the last thing in the world she'd expected of Paddy. Like her, he'd seen his own father have one too many. For a long time he drank, as she did, only on social occasions. As their marriage had gone from bad to worse he had started to drink. Now he was almost totally dependent on alcohol. She didn't blame him entirely. It had been her failure to respond at the beginning to his pa.s.sion, to his tenderness. She'd tried but he hadn't been fooled for a minute, drawing away from her, at first in sorrow and then anger. He'd known how she felt when she married him, she thought angrily. He must have the same weakness as his father, although unlike Shamus, Paddy got nasty with drink.

The worsening unemployment was another factor, especially after the General Strike in 1926. Paddy had been out of work now for two years. Eventually it had demoralized him, eating hungrily into his male ego, especially as she continued to go from strength to strength with the shop.

Leah crossed the Square to Belmont Road. Their house was right at the top at the end of the new housing estate. The rain was still coming down in torrents, the wind almost turning the umbrella inside out. She struggled to close it and, head down and the hood of her mac well over her face, she plodded on, her mind jumping from one thing to another.

Nineteen twenty-six conjured something else which had happened at the time. She remembered Kathryn bursting into the shop, tears streaming down her face.

'He's dead, he's dead,' she kept repeating.

Leah was altering a hem for a client, who stood on a small stool in front of her. Leah had her mouth full of pins (a bad habit of hers) and at the unexpected and noisy intrusion she almost swallowed them (it had cured her of doing this!) 'Who's dead,' she said after she'd got rid of the pins, thinking it must be Kathryn's father, who had recently had a heart attack.

'It's Rudy, Leah, Rudy's dead.' Rudolph Valentino! Leah was shocked. What a terrible waste, she thought, but was unprepared for the affect it had on Kathryn. She seemed demented! She stared in consternation as Kathryn went into some kind of fit, howling and spluttering. Even the lady on the stool, Mrs. Dewhurst burst into tears. Leah watched them sniffling and sobbing in surprise. They blubbered for well on ten minutes during which time Leah became more and more exasperated. She'd never get finished at this rate!

That was how she remembered 1926 and here it was 1931 and things in Britain had not improved much since then and from what was in the newspapers it wasn't only England. Look at America and the Wall Street crash! People jumping out of buildings because they'd lost all their money, so she should just think herself lucky that she was still doing all right.

The n.o.bs from Park Lane complained as well about hard times, but they still seemed to have money to fork out on nice clothes, thank goodness. Kathryn's marriage to a cotton magnate in Manchester had helped. She had orders from as far away as this city and her reputation as a dressmaker was spreading further and further afield.

'It'll be Paris, next,' Kathryn had said.

'Get on with you.'

Paddy wasn't going to be pleased if she did open another shop. She knew it would be worth the initial expense. She would have to buy a car, but this didn't worry her. It was Paddy! He would resent this expansion because it would be further proof of his failure and her success. His male ego would be dented, again, and it would be like rubbing salt into a wound because this seemed to be the story of their life so far. She didn't want to hurt Paddy. How she wished that he could find some worthwhile employment, but the longer he went between jobs the less inclined he became to stir himself.

The children were also becoming something of a problem. It was strange, but now that Stephen was growing up Paddy was becoming more antagonistic towards him. Yet he'd doted on him as a baby and all through his early years, but it seemed that as his ardour for her had cooled, his opposition to Stephen had grown.

To be fair Leah knew that the situation with Stephen wasn't all one sided. Stephen tended to be as stubborn as Paddy and with adolescence and all its problems both he and Paddy seemed to be at constant loggerheads.

When their daughter, Christine was born, a year after their marriage, Paddy had gradually switched his affection to his daughter, who he pampered and spoilt quite shamelessly. Leah finally lost her temper and they had a flaming row. It hadn't made much difference because Paddy insisted that Christine have the best of everything and if her daughter hadn't been such an even- tempered and placid child she would have been an insufferable little brat. As it was she was the most sunny-tempered of children; but in spite of Paddy's adoration it was Stephen who Christine idolized. Perhaps this was the reason she remained unspoiled. Stephen, although fond of his sister, put her in her place in no uncertain terms.

Leah hurried the last few yards, pushing open the gate, thankful to be home. The wind had risen and her feet were so wet and cold she could hardly feel them. She hoped that Stephen and Christine had not been late picking Julia up from the nursery. Julia had an uncanny sense of timing and even if they were only a few minutes late Sister Agnes said that she set up such a wailing she upset all the other children.

Three children to look after, she thought, no four really, because lately that was what Paddy was like, another responsibility, just like the children. She hadn't wanted any more after Christine but unfortunately she'd fallen again. That was another thing to add to the growing list of problems. Paddy's lovemaking! He had always seemed gauche and awkward after Stephen and she was unable to stop comparing, even after all these years. Paddy sensed this from the beginning and naturally had been resentful and angry, eventually drowning his bitterness in drink.

She was shivering as she stepped onto the porch, so dreadfully tired that she could hardly get the key out of her bag. It should be Paddy returning from work, not her. She would be waiting for him with a good dinner ready and a fire roaring up the chimney. Instead, it would be the usual scene. She'd walk in, tired, miserable, the prospect of making dinner, the children quarrelling most probably because they would be hungry and tired, and Paddy would be sat, as usual with his beer, a sullen look on his face because she was late.

She was fed up: fed up of the never-ending work and responsibilities, which seemed to fall more and more heavily on her shoulders. The injustice of it and the selfishness of men! When she worked so hard Paddy should make the dinner and do the housework. That was the least he could do! But this didn't seem to fit into his idea of what men should do. It was just another little nudge down the ladder of his male ego. The truth of the matter was that he hardly lifted his hand. She had to really control herself at times or she would flare at him and then it would be on again: the ranting, the raving, accusations, verbal cruelty, which left her completely devastated for days after. It upset the children as well, especially Julia. She really must try to stay calm, but it was getting harder, especially when she was cold and tired and she often wondered if it had been a good idea to buy this house so far from the shop.

The new housing estate had been developed more than a year ago. Most were semi-detached houses, with a bay window at the front, quite large rooms compared with terrace houses and the most appealing thing about them, was the indoor toilet and beautiful bathroom ( what absolute heaven, Leah had thought at the time no more long drop). She went to look at them when they were half built. The last in the row had been the one. The kitchen window had a view onto the fields and in the distance, Pendle Hill.

Paddy had been dead set against it. Probably because she wanted it! Contrary with her all the time, putting his spoke in if he could, just to annoy her. She'd stuck to her plan though and now they'd been in the house three months. She loved it. The airy brightness of it after the small, poky flat and the terrace house in Glebe Street. The bathroom was an absolute joy. Just thinking of soaking in that huge pink bath lifted her spirits.

The curtains at the bay window were closed. The light was on in the room and she could see through a c.h.i.n.k. No one was in there and she sighed in exasperation when she saw the fire hadn't been lit. She slipped her key in the lock and stepped into the small hallway, taking off her mac and shaking it outside the door. She took off her wet shoes. She'd put newspaper in them and let them dry in front of the fire later.

'I'm home,' she called. The kitchen door was closed, but at her call there was a scurry of feet. She was surrounded immediately by Stephen and Christine, and behind them, swaying unsteadily on her chubby legs, Julia.

'When are we going to have tea, I'm starving?' Stephen said, pulling at her arm.

'Tell Stephen he's mean because he won't lend me his story book. He's not reading it so why can't I have it?' Christine whined.

'Let me get in, for heaven's sake,' Leah said, bending down to hold her arms out to Julia. 'Come on, love.' Leah picked her up and hugged her. She went down the hallway showering Julia with kisses followed by Stephen and Christine pushing and shoving to get near her, to hang on to her.

As she had surmised Paddy sat in the kitchen. It was a mess. Dirty dishes still lay piled on the sink where she'd left them that morning, with a few more added. Anger surged and she struggled to check it. He could at least have washed the dishes! Paddy watched her, aware of her reaction. He looked belligerent, defiant, what Leah called his Irish bulldog look. He seemed to be willing her to voice her thoughts so that he had the excuse to let fly. Instead, rather than giving him the satisfaction of knowing she was annoyed, she detached Julia from her and placed her on the floor.

'Been out today?' she said, affecting a casual tone.

He wasn't fooled for an instant. He banged the pot of beer down on the table. Some of it slopped over the sides.

'If you mean have I been to see about a job,' he replied in a loud, nasty voice, 'The answer is no, I haven't and you know b.l.o.o.d.y why? Because there aren't any b.l.o.o.d.y jobs around, or haven't you heard?'

Stephen and Christine looked at each other. There was going to be another argument and they hadn't even had their tea!

'Can we have tea now?' Stephen said quickly.

'Grandma's been and she left us some pies.'

Leah looked at Paddy questioningly. He scowled and gave Stephen a nasty look.

'You stop interrupting your mother and me when we're talking.' He swung back to Leah. 'Aye, your mother called. She left two meat and potato pies and an apple pie. She put 'em in the oven but I didn't know when you'd be home so I haven't warmed 'em up yet. Oh, and she left a letter for you to read from Janey.'

She took the letter he held out to her. He could have given the children their tea when he knew they were famished! But no, it seemed that he was too selfish to notice this, too intent on guzzling his beer and all he wanted to do lately was be awkward and get her all riled up. Well, this time she wasn't going to let him!

'I'll read the letter later,' she said trying to keep her voice level. She placed it on the top shelf of the dresser.

She looked forward to news from Janey and also from Darkie and Marion. The last time she'd heard from her Janey was trying to get into films, but now that they'd changed to talkies she had to get rid of her accent, which had meant elocution lessons. Fancy, Janey taking elocution lessons! Leah remembered how Janey had laughed at her attempts to improve herself. She had a fleeting sense of nostalgia: of Miss Fenton telling her to 'articulate'. She'd been a different person then. A person who hadn't a care in the world! Miss Fenton had since moved to London. She missed her and the little bit of culture she'd brought into her life, even if only for a short while. Her own speech had slipped back into dialect, perhaps not quite as p.r.o.nounced as it had been, but colloquial all the same, which was to be expected. She a.s.sociated all the time with people who spoke dialect.

Thinking about Janey made her realize that it had been so long since she'd seen her that she could hardly bring her face to mind. How long was it - eight, nine years? She sighed as she took some crockery out of the cupboard. How time had flown and here she was already nearly thirty and with three children and Janey not even married. She wondered if Janey was happy. She must be happier than she was, anyway and she turned around and placed the cups and saucers on the table, her tiredness making her voice sharp.

'Tea won't be long now. Go upstairs,' she said to Stephen and Christine, 'And wash your hands.'

'Oh, do we have to?' Stephen said in a whining voice.

'Yes, you do,' Leah replied. 'Just look at you both. You're filthy. Now go on, do as you're told or you'll get no tea.'

They went out of the kitchen reluctantly. Leah retrieved Julia, who had scampered under the table. She held her out to Paddy.

'Take her into the living room and I'll get tea ready. How's the fire in there.'

'Nearly out,' he said tersely.