Amber frowned. ‘I didn’t know I had to,’ she said tartly and had the satisfaction of seeing two spots of angry colour flame in his cheeks.
He took a deep breath and stepping towards her asked, ‘So, do yer fancy comin’ fer a walk? It’s time you an’ me got on the same page – about where we stand, I mean,’ he ended when he saw her puzzled look.
‘The same page?’ She stared at him blankly. ‘But we’re mates, Bertie, we’ve always been mates.’
He shook his head and shot an uncomfortable glance at Alice. ‘I reckon we’re a lot more than that, lass,’ he told her. ‘Leastways, you’re much more than a mate to me. I allus thought that once we were old enough, we’d?.?.?. you know? Get wed.’
Amber’s eyes stretched wide. ‘I don’t know what gave you that idea,’ she gasped. ‘I certainly didn’t. I’m not thinking of marrying anyone for some long time – if ever!’
He chuckled again as he looked at her flushed face. ‘Then it’s high time yer did start thinkin’ about it,’ he said. ‘You could do a lot worse than me. I’d be good to yer an’ make sure as yer never wanted fer owt, so give it some thought, eh?’
Before she could answer he turned abruptly and went out the way he had come, leaving Amber and her mother to stare at each other in amazement.
‘As if I’d ever be interested in the likes of Bertie Preston,’ Amber snorted and was shocked when her mother lowered her eyes.
‘I dare say you could do worse,’ she muttered. ‘An’ considerin’ what’s happened?.?.?.’
‘Considerin’ what’s happened you think I should be grateful to accept anyone as will have me, is that it?’ Amber’s eyes were blazing with anger and hurt.
‘I didn’t say that!’ Alice said loudly.
‘No, you didn’t, but it’s what you meant.’ Springing out of the chair Amber climbed the stairs to her little room in the attic and after throwing herself on the mattress she sobbed.
*
When her mother came downstairs the next morning, she was shocked to see Amber already up and dressed in her oldest clothes with a warm shawl crossed over her chest and tied at the back. She had scraped her hair into a ponytail in the nape of her neck and tied it with string and she was wrapping her hands in strips of sacking.
‘What are you doin’?’
Amber looked up. ‘I’m gettin’ ready to go to work,’ she informed her mother coolly. ‘I noticed that the Scottish herring girls are still here in the harbour an’ they’re always glad of any help as the ships come in.’
Every year, from July to the end of September, when the herrings shoaled along the shoreline, the Scottish herring girls – or the gippers, as they were known – arrived in force to gut and pack them. While they waited for the fishing boats to come in, they were a regular sight about the town as they strolled out with the young men, much to the disgust of the local girls.
‘Do you realise how hard that work is?’ Alice asked, appalled. ‘You’re only days after giving birth and you should still be in bed by rights not goin’ to work.’
Amber did know how hard the herring girls worked. They were out there in all weathers for poor pay, but she stuck her chin in the air as she finished binding her hands.
‘I’m young an’ strong,’ she said calmly. ‘An’ any sort o’ work I have to do to keep meself is better than havin’ to marry a bloke I don’t love.’ And with that she turned and left as Alice bit down worriedly on her lip.
The stench of fish hit Amber as she neared the harbour and already she saw the herring girls were there getting into groups of three.
‘Is there a place for me?’ she asked hopefully, approaching the nearest group.
The girl looked her up and down. ‘Have yer ever done this before, lassie?’ She had a broad Scottish accent but she seemed friendly enough.
Amber shook her head. ‘No, but I’m a very fast learner an’ I ain’t afraid o’ hard work.’
‘Then join Isla and Bridget over there an’ we’ll gi’ you a trial.’
She pointed to two girls further down the harbour who were rolling the barrels they would need into place. Amber walked over to them, and after introducing herself they handed her a sharp knife.
Lifting a herring, Isla instructed, ‘Hold the fish like this an’ give one long slash like so.’ The knife flashed in the weak sunshine as she sliced straight down the fish’s belly from throat to tail. ‘Then take out the intestines an’ they go in this barrel ’ere.’
Amber knew that nothing was wasted and that the barrels of intestines would be sold to farmers to make fertiliser.
‘Then the fish goes in one o’ these barrels, an’ when you ’ave a nice tier yer cover ’em in salt and start the next layer till yer get to the top. Which barrel the fish goes in will depend on its size, see? The cooper’ll keep his eyes open to check yer puttin’ ’em in the right one so try an’ get it right.’
She pointed to a man who had a wooden gauge in his hand. He was the one who came along row after row, measuring the fish to ensure that they were all of a similar size and Amber wondered how hard it could be. However, after an hour of bending over gutting fish after fish she soon realised it was back-breaking work, and the raw smell was making her heave.
