Cat's Cradle by Julia Golding Page A

about their chores and some grubby infants playing with rough-cut blocks – one toy there was no shortage of on a building site – but no Bridgit.
    â€˜What you be doing here, miss?’ a hard-eyed woman challenged me – she had her arms up to the elbows in a tub of soapy water.
    â€˜Good morning, ma’am.’ The woman seemed taken aback by my polite greeting. ‘I’m looking for Bridgit O’Riley. Where does she live?’
    â€˜What you want with her?’
    I smiled. ‘Just wanted to call on her. We met last night.’
    The woman wiped her brow, leaving a trail of suds. ‘Not seen her yet this morning. Two doors down on my side.’ With a curt nod, she returned to scrubbing her man’s shirts.
    A little further on, I arrived outside a raw plank door with a piece of string for a latch. I knocked.
    â€˜Bridgit?’
    I could hear scurrying around inside as if someone was trying frantically to hide something – or themselves.
    â€˜It’s me. Cat. I’ve come to see if you’re all right.’
    The door opened a crack and her amazing violet eyes peeked out at me.
    â€˜I’m fine,’ she whispered. Her gaze darted uneasily down the alley. ‘You’d better come in.’
    She pulled the ill-fitting door open andushered me inside. The odour in the room was a little ripe to say the least, smelling of spirits and too many bodies packed together. I’d heard doctors claim that diseases travelled in bad air – that would make this hut a positive breeding ground for all manner of fevers. For Bridgit’s sake, I tried not to show my distaste.
    â€˜Can I get you some refreshment?’ she asked politely. Her manners were far better than one would expect from her surroundings. At a glance, it was clear that she kept the hut neat despite the obstacle of all those brothers. A piece with her manners, I read this as a gesture of defiance against her wretched lot.
    â€˜Can I invite you out with me?’ I countered. ‘I know a very good cook shop where we can grab a second breakfast.’ I noted the few contents of the room. ‘Or a first. My treat.’
    In the gloom, she shook her head. ‘I’m not supposed to go out. My brothers won’t like it.’
    â€˜Why? What do they think will happen?’
    She twisted her hands in the threadbare fabric of her day-dress. ‘Some of the women have hadtrouble. It’s not a very pleasant area, you know, for us Irish.’
    â€˜Believe me, I know. But with me, you’ll be fine. And besides, it’s only nine in the morning. The local boys won’t be out looking for trouble – they’ll be working.’
    â€˜I . . . I’m not sure, Cat . . .’ Her voice died as she heard footsteps pounding down the alley. ‘Oh Jesus and Mary, it’s them!’
    I didn’t need to ask who she meant. The door crashed open and Corny O’Riley shouldered his way into the room, followed by two of his brothers.
    â€˜Get out!’ he shouted, waving his arm at me.
    Bravely, Bridgit threw herself between us. ‘Don’t you go shouting at my friend, Corny! She meant no harm being here.’
    Ire redirected to his sister, Corny grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from me. ‘You don’t have no friends here, remember! They’re all against us – trying to stop a man doing an honest day’s work. They’d let us starve if they could.’ He shook her roughly.
    â€˜Now just a minute!’ I exclaimed, outraged byhis rough treatment. ‘You take your hands off her!’
    He gave me a scornful look. ‘Oh yes? And you’ll make me, I suppose, pipsqueak?’
    One of the other brothers moved out of the doorway, letting light fall into the room and on to Bridgit’s face. She had a bruised cheek that hadn’t been there the night before. That was it.
    â€˜Oh yes, I’ll make you, you big bully.’ I grabbed