Page 3

Chapter 3

March 1908

The yell could be heard from the street outside the house.

John Black stopped stroking his moustache and screwed up his eyes, trying to see past the piles of masonry and lead pipes lying in what would eventually be his front garden.

The yell had become a scream of pain and it was heading in his direction.

A man covered in pale plaster dust appeared at the rectangular opening where the front door would soon hang, dragging a lad behind him.

‘Hurry!’ he shouted, and headed towards a standpipe in the street where he turned the tap on and let water flow out across the not-yet cobbled ground.

Despite the noisy protests, he pushed the lad’s head under the gush.

‘Keep still! The water has to get into your eye.’ The screaming stopped as the scrawny lad spluttered and coughed.

Every so often there was a gasp and a shout, but the man was determined to keep the lad’s head under the flow of water.

A second boy of about the same age appeared.

‘Get a pail!’ the man demanded.

‘And make sure it’s empty.

’

The boy vanished back inside the house and returned quickly with a heavy galvanised bucket, bashed about the rim.

The injured lad was silent now.

He had been set back onto his feet and stood shivering, his head soaking wet, water dribbling down onto his shirt.

The man rinsed the grey bucket out three times and then filled it with fresh water.

‘Sit there,’ he instructed.

The lad did as he was told and sat down on a stack of planks.

Beside him was a heap of long larch poles and coiled ropes; last week these had been the scaffolding for the house.

‘You need to take handfuls of water from the pail, like this,’ the man demonstrated, ‘and then hold your hand against your eye and tip your head back. I want you to use the whole pail of water. And when you’ve done that there will be another pail.

Over and over again.

Have you got that? Do you understand?

’ The lad nodded.

All this activity unfurled in front of John Black, who was standing on a rutted path that would soon be the pavement.

He unbuttoned his overcoat.

‘Here,’ he said, stepping forward, ‘he’s freezing cold.

Put this around him.

’

The plasterer looked up, taking in the smart hat and formal suit.

‘That’s kind of you, sir, but your coat will be ruined.

’

‘This is going to be my house, and I think a few marks on a coat is a small price to pay for looking after one of the young men who is building it for me.’ He held the heavy wool coat out, its satin lining catching the low afternoon sunlight.

‘Please, take it.’

The plasterer took the coat.

‘Thank you. He’s chilled, that’s for sure.

’

‘And his face? What happened?’

‘A dod of lime plaster in his eye. It’s caustic.

It will have burned.

’

‘In his eye? My God.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be fine after a few days.

We got it rinsed out very quickly.

You really can’t delay with this kind of thing.

’

‘What age is he? He looks so young.’ John frowned.

‘Is it safe for him to be here?’

‘He’s fourteen,’ the man lied.

‘He’s not missing any school.

I pay him, and he takes the wage home to his mother.

She’s a widow. It all helps a little.

’

John listened, but was unconvinced.

‘Very well. I’ll leave you to get on.

I need to get home now.

’ He crossed his red woollen scarf over his chest, tucked the ends under his arms and fastened the buttons on his suit jacket.

‘It’s been rather a day.

’

The plasterer hesitated, clearly unsure how to respond.

‘I had thought that this house would be where my wife and I would bring up our family, but according to the doctor we saw this morning, she is quite unwell, and now I am uncertain about almost everything.’ It was somehow easier to tell a complete stranger about his circumstances than it would have been to disclose them to a friend on the golf course.

‘I hope the news isn’t as bad as you fear, sir.

’ The man held out his hand, and John grasped it, feeling the man’s callused skin against his own office-smooth fingers.

‘Thank you. Please keep the coat, it may be useful to the lad.’ He judged the plasterer to be a similar build to himself.

‘Or to someone else.’

He looked back at the house, noticing for the first time that someone had chalked a 2 and a 5 in large numbers on the stone lintel above the door.

He turned and picked his way back along the uneven road surface of Library Terrace, rubbing his hands together in the brisk air because his leather gloves were in the pockets of the coat that was no longer his, and it would have been churlish to go back and ask for them.

Finlay and Ann would be waiting for him at home.

He had no idea how he was going to tell them the news about their mother.