A Silver Lining Read Online Free PDF Page A

but Mr Goldman...’
    ‘In that case there’s no need for you to come up again.’
    ‘You’ll let me know?’
    ‘Know?’ he repeated blankly, pausing for a moment with one foot on the bottom stair.
    ‘When the work picks up?’
    ‘Of course.’
    His heavy tread thundered overhead as she reached for her threadbare navy blue mac, thrust her arms into the sleeves and fumbled in the pocket for her comb. She rarely carried any money to work; there was no need when she lived only ten minutes’ walk away. But she had money now. She opened her hand and stared at the half-crowns.
    She could pay off the grocer’s bill, but then what would she do for rent next week? It would be a struggle to make ends meet on the seven shillings she earned in Ronconi’s working Saturdays, Sundays, and five nights.
    The Ronconis were opening a new café soon and she had been promised a full-time job there, but would it come soon enough to keep her and her mother out of debt, and more important still, out of the workhouse?
    Damn Mostyn Goldman and his cold-blooded talk of staffing levels! Fury coursed fiercely through her as she walked towards the front door for the last time. She slammed it behind her, her mouth acrid with the taste of unshed tears. The gossips were busy shredding her reputation, she’d lost her job, and she couldn’t even see a way to fight back.
    The nagging ache in her stomach getting stronger and more unbearable with each passing minute, she stumbled along the icy pavement. The sound of tapping fingers on glass rattled above her. She looked up. Freda and Mary were watching her from the window. She longed to wipe the smug expression off both their faces. They had never liked her. A horrible suspicion crossed her mind. Had they said something about her to Mr Goldman? Mary had been trying to get her niece a job in the sweatshop for years and Mr Goldman’s reasoning about the effects of the depression didn’t hold water when she remembered that orders fell off every year around Christmas time.
    Mary wiggled her fingers and Alma saw red. Resorting to sheer childishness she stuck her tongue out.
    Mary and Freda finally withdrew from the window, and she walked away, dragging one foot in front of the other, the unremitting pain making her dizzy and faint. Gathering the remains of her strength she headed towards the grey concrete and red-brick YMCA building intending to cut up the side-street alongside it on to Gelliwastad Road, and through the network of alleyways and terraces behind it to Morgan Street.
    A horde of boys dressed in rugby strip and boots donated by the town’s chamber of trade thundered down the stone steps of the building, charged across the road and around the corner past the old bridge, heading for the park gates.
    Of course! Boxing Day rugby match! She rested for a moment, allowing them to pass. William Powell waved to her as he ran alongside his cousin Eddie. William thickset, heavier than Eddie, but both of them tall and good-looking, with black hair and brown eyes; and behind them sixteen-year-old Angelo Ronconi, swarthy with flashing dark eyes, curly hair, and olive skin that instantly, and painfully, reminded her of his brother, Ronnie.
    The overcast sky, the frosted grey pavement, the ring of boot studs on concrete as the boys dashed past in their white strip swirled around her. She made a conscious effort and took a deep breath. Her lungs craved oxygen but there wasn’t any in the air. Only pain –thick red pain.
    ‘Are you all right, Miss Moore?’
    She focused on the startlingly white blond hair and deep blue eyes of Charlie.
    ‘Quite well, thank you,’ she answered stiffly, swaying on her feet.
    ‘You don’t look well to me.’ He caught her elbow in the palm of his hand.
    ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’
    The stream of boys slowed their pace. Some were staring but suddenly she didn’t give a toss about them –or anyone. Everyone in the town thought the worst of her, so what did it matter