‘All right, go and fetch your smelling salts then,’ Bobby said, feeding a sheet of paper into her typewriter. ‘And while you’re up, you can make us both a brew. Kettle’s just boiled.’
Tony snorted. ‘You what? It’s your turn.’
‘You know full well it isn’t. It’s been my turn for the last five tea rounds.’ She looked up from her notebook, which contained a page of shorthand she needed to turn into an article on ‘the village blacksmith’ before she finished at midday. ‘Make sure you brew it properly this time. Don’t think I’ll let you off tea rounds because you make a bad cup. And if you must be late, you can make the time up before you leave.’
He shook his head. ‘What’s got into you today? Women’s problems? It was only a couple of minutes.’
‘It was five minutes. Yesterday it was three minutes. On Tuesday it was two minutes. You’re shaving a bit more off every time. Don’t forget I’ve worked with you before. I know every Tony Scott shirking trick there is.’
‘Going to blab to Reg, are you?’
‘Not if you don’t do it again. But if you think I’m going to cover for you like I used to do at theCourier, you’re wrong. That Bobby’s long gone.’
Bobby wasn’t sure what had done away with the last of her tolerance for Tony’s inability to accept her superiority at work, but whether it was Marmaduke-related or just her own frayed temper, she had no patience left with him.
‘This is exactly what I was talking about in the pub,’ Tony muttered. ‘Work makes women hard.’
‘What it makes this woman is gagging for a cup of tea,’ Bobby told him shortly. ‘If you think you’re being hard done by, take it up with Reg. Be sure to mention what time you turned up to work when you do, won’t you?’
Tony glared at her before getting up to do as he was told. Bobby watched him from the corner of her eye as he filled their tin mugs.
She softened a little, however, when she saw how tired her brother-in-law looked. He did have a six-month-old baby at home, and Bobby also knew how difficult it could be to share a home with her father when his nightmares came frequently. Perhaps she had been too hard on the man.
‘How are Lilian and Annie?’ she asked in a softer tone.
‘Annie’s fine.’ Tony smiled at the mention of the daughter he doted on. ‘Always a smile for me when I give her a cuddle before work. Lucky she didn’t take after her miserable old man, eh?’
Bobby smiled too, ready to let bygones be bygones if he was.
‘And Lil?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t seen her for nearly a week. She always seems to be out.’
‘I’ve not seen much of her myself,’ Tony said, carrying a thinly brewed cup of tea to her. ‘Always she’s at that ruddy graveyard.’
‘Still?’
‘Aye.’ He sighed. ‘Seems harsh to tell her it’s time to move on but it’s doing her no good, Bobby, spending more time withthe dead than the living. It’s been nigh on seven month now. Happen you might have a word.’
‘It’d be better coming from you. You’re the father.’
‘Don’t you think I’ve tried?’ Tony sat down with his tea. ‘Not got the words, I reckon. Seems like it’s a woman’s thing. Babies and that.’
‘Well, I’ll try.’ Bobby paused. ‘Does she… what does Dr Minchin say about Lil’s health now? Is she getting stronger?’
What Bobby really wanted to know was if the doctor was still recommending the tonic wine Lil had become increasingly dependent on. It worried her, given everything they had been through with their dad, that her sister was using alcohol to get through the day.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Tony said. ‘All she tells me is that she’s fine. Still, she seems happier since Christmas. I reckon she’d be right as rain if she stopped hanging round that damp cemetery.’
‘I’m sure it’s her spirits that are weighing her down. Don’t you think you could take her out more often? Not to the Hart but to a movie or a dance. I’m always happy to mind the baby.’
‘Take her out on what? Fresh air?’ Tony glanced listlessly at his typewriter. ‘Wish Old Man Atherton could see his way clear to a bit more in my wage packet of a week. I could afford to get a woman in to help Lil at home then.’
‘You always seem to be able to afford beer at the pub,’ Bobby observed dryly.
‘Aye, well, that’s business. Puts me in the way of odd jobs.’
‘Like what?’
‘Jack Foster from our platoon’s offered me a oncer to whitewash his place this weekend. That’s worth the price of the pint I bought him.’ He lit another cigarette. ‘Ridiculous for a professional man to have to make money on the side painting bloody houses, but I can’t afford to turn down work.’
