Page 18 of Mine before Dawn
The magic of the sewing machine and the soft drag of thread through fabric were her moments of quiet. The careful, precise work of mending, stitching, reshaping and darning made her feel like she was doing something more than running all day. Mrs. Wilmslow was a woman of few words but not unkind.
She stayed until four, and she tried to stretch every hour.
Then the rush began again. It was another quick walk to her son’s school and then back to the pub for the evening rush.
They would take the bus back together.
She would drop him behind the bar, settle him with something to eat from the box of leftovers she always brought along, a book and then step back into the noise.
And without fail,hewould be waiting and watching for her. After that night's rejection, he never approached her again. But she imagined that his face relaxed a smidgen when he saw her. She noticed the other lewd proposals and suggestions had died down. Now she was just like Mavis and Patrick. She found the miners were a gruff but not unkind lot. Some of them would give her a nod when she passed them. One in particular, a fresh-faced lad named Roger would blush and smile when she asked him what he would like to drink.
Work continued until nine, by which point her feet felt ready to fall off.
Then the last bus home.
It was the same story every day, every night. And every day, she became aware of the same large shadow trailing behind her until she and the boy were safely home.
Not a word passed between them but she now knew his name was James and that he was thirty years old.
***
It was a hard life but a good one. She endured it because slowly, the numbers began to change. Coins turned into notes.
Notes began to stay, instead of disappearing the moment they arrived.
And then, one evening, Mavis mentioned it casually—
“That lad James,” she said, wiping down the counter. “He is a good one. But best you stay away.”
Chapter 7
Mavis had been handing out advice since the second week Asha started at the pub.
Most of it came without warning.
“Don’t smile too much at the miners,” she had muttered one afternoon while counting change into the till. “Some men take it as an invitation. Remember you are a woman alone with a son.”
Another time, seeing Asha walking alone with her hair loose down her back, she had clicked her tongue sharply.
“Pin that up, girl. You’re too striking as it is. No need to encourage trouble.”
Asha had almost laughed then, because there had been no malice in it, only weary practicality.
The backhanded compliment made her feel warm in her chest. A rare memory of her own mother oiling her hair rose unbidden. There had been a lice infestation in school and her mother had been meticulous with her four daughters. She would oil their hair one after the other and then run a fine-toothed comb through them one by one until it felt like her scalp was one big bruise. Then they would have to wash the hair in a special herbalpaste that she would grind at home. But accompanying that was the bitter memory of herself at fourteen in bridal red, standing next to her already-married bridegroom of forty. Her mother pretended it was a blessing and at that time she believed it was.
She preferred Mavis's gruff scolding to her mother who looked the other way when she needed her the most.
Mavis belonged to a generation of women who believed a woman’s safety rested heavily on how invisible she could make herself. She had opinions on everything.
“A woman alone always pays double for mistakes. Don’t you forget, lass.”
“Never let a man see how desperate you are. They will not ignore the chance to get under your skirts, girl.”
“If you can mend clothes proper, you’ll never starve.”
“Men respect women who work hard, but don't work too hard, girlie. Makes them nervous.”
And once, after hearing Asha mention she wanted to save enough money to perhaps rent somewhere nicer one day, Mavis had given her a long look over the rim of her spectacles. Asha suspected she didn't really need them but she liked wearing them all the same because someone told her it made her look like a teacher.
