Darkest Before Dawn by Katie Flynn

feller in a rare puzzle, I can tell you.’ The kettle came to the boil and Harry spooned tea from the caddy into the small brown teapot and poured a judicious amount of conny-onny into two tin mugs, then left the tea to brew. ‘Children say straight out what everyone else is thinking, but I dare say he’d never heard the term “water gypsy” before. But he knows it now, for I’m sure his mother enlightened him once we’d gone our separate ways.’
    â€˜Mebbe so,’ the old man acknowledged. ‘It’s strange how some folk feel about them as lives and works on the canal. Why, you’re no more like a gypsy that I am meself, Mr Todd. Save that your complexion is – is kinda tanned. But in the old days, when there was sailing ships, the seamen were as brown as yourself an’ no one called them gypsies.’
    Harold picked up the teapot. ‘Tea’s brewed,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with gypsies and we do have one thing in common: we can’t put down roots, can’t have a regular place to call our own. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I loved the life, but I wanted something better for my daughters. My eldest is going to be a teacher and there wouldn’t be any college education for her whilst we lived on the barge.’
    â€˜Do you miss it? Life on the canal, I mean?’ the old man asked curiously, sipping the hot tea. ‘It must have been an adventurous sort of existence; every day different, never waking up to the same view through your window.’
    Harry gave this some thought, then finally shook his head. ‘I’ve had forty-four years of wandering,’ he said slowly. ‘I loved it but I didn’t know anything else. Now, I’m enjoying this job and appreciating things you’ll take for granted. There’s cinemas, cafés, big shops, all sorts. And when you’re on the canal it’s all work and very little play, especially if like myself you aren’t a drinking man. Some of ’em spend every evening in a pub but I never could see the point of it. Anyway, one of these days, when I’ve saved up enough money, I’ll buy me a neat little canalside cottage in Burscough, where all the barge masters go to retire. I’ll be able to relax there and so will Mrs Todd, and we’ll do so with a clear conscience because we’ll have given our girls a good start in life.’
    Mr Fuller drained his mug, then stood it down on the table. ‘I’ve a gal of me own and a couple o’ sons, all married and away from here,’ he observed. ‘But as for retiring, I can’t see that happening, somehow. Mrs Fuller is a dab hand with her old sewing machine; she makes curtains and cushions for one of the big stores and of course I’ve got me job here, which I enjoys well enough. I don’t deny we could scrape by on my little pension but the money I earn here – and what Mrs Fuller makes from the stores – means we’re real comfortable.’ He sighed deeply and began to button up his shabby overcoat. Straightening his checked cap, he turned to leave the room, saying as he went through the door: ‘I allus feel as I should bid you good night, Mr Todd, when I comes off me shift. Eh, but it’s an upside down life when you’re awake all night and asleep half the day. See you at six.’
    Harry accompanied the old man to the staff door, which he left open for the men who would be arriving in another thirty minutes or so to start the day’s work. Then he crossed to the huge main doors through which goods would begin coming presently, and glanced down at the dead rat. He gave a slight shiver although, all too plainly, the creature was dead. He told himself he ought to move it, take it out to the dustbins, but then decided against it. Baldwin shared his dislike of rats and he was an awkward employee, slow to obey, quick to grumble, and surly. Harry knew the