A Cuppa Tea and an Aspirin by Helen Forrester Page B

afraid of strangers from the street getting in,’ responded Martha, her mind temporarily diverted from her current woes. ‘I mean, you know everybody in the court. You can sit on the step in the dark, and know all who pass, even if they’re drunk – a strange seaman walking through the street entry shows up like a sore thumb – and you can watch the kids – makes them more careful, because theyknow you’ll tell their dad if they steal or are real naughty.’
    â€˜You’re probably right,’ agreed Annie amiably; she was nothing if not diplomatic. She silently thanked God that she had married a widower, who already had decent living quarters behind his busy corner shop.
    Finally, with a shaky sigh, Martha rose from the high-backed wooden rocking chair. This time she felt reasonably steady. She wanted urgently to be engulfed in the darkness of the street so that she could have a good cry.
    She leaned towards Annie to kiss her in thanks. Annie hastily stepped back. Then to cover her horror of picking up vermin, she took Martha’s hand and squeezed it hard, as the disconcerted woman, in stumbling fashion, expressed her gratitude.
    Annie turned and opened the door into the shop, and Martha walked through it. There were a number of customers, standing around chatting to each other. When Mr O’Reilly heard the door open, he glanced back over his shoulder and said, with forced cheerfulness, ‘Ah, Mrs Connolly. Feeling OK now?’
    As all the customers turned in surprise to view her entrance, she hitched her shawl over her head, and said, with an embarrassed smile, that yes, shewas. Annie followed her and lifted the counter lid for her so that she could move to the customer side of it and thence to the street door.
    Martha noticed Alice Flynn, her neighbour from the attic, among the interested customers and nodded politely to her. Thanks to her crippled war-veteran husband, she, at least, had a regular small pension coming in, thought Martha enviously – and he couldn’t get out of bed to spend it.
    She jumped, when John O’Reilly called to her, ‘Hey, don’t forget your groceries. I’ve got them under the counter here.’
    He bent down and fished out a brown paper bag, lifted it over the counter and put it into her arms. ‘See you tomorrow night,’ he said with a wink.
    She wrapped her shawl round the bag, as she gasped. ‘Why – why – thank you, Mr O’Reilly. I’m much obliged.’ She stood looking at him, her mouth agape, not believing her luck. She could smell the bread in the bag and she salivated.
    Since she had her hands full, a man waiting at the back of the little knot of customers opened the door for her.
    With a huge sob, she turned and ran down the two steps to the pavement, while the customers, in surprise, turned to Mr O’Reilly for an explanation.
    He said, in unexpected defence of Martha’s obvious distress, ‘She’s a bit upset. She fainted in the shop. So we took her into the house, and the wife’s been taking care of her.’
    All the customers grinned and resumed their chatter; the story confirmed their high opinion of the O’Reillys, even if they had the misfortune of being Protestants. Always got a smile for you, they had, and would let you have a bit on the slate – most of the time.
    Annie O’Reilly let out an audible sigh of relief. She ignored the need of her help in the shop, and went to wash down with pine disinfectant the chair in which Martha had sat.
    It was not that she disliked Martha, she told herself, as she scrubbed the cleanser thoroughly into every joint in the chair and her living room was flooded with the strong odour of disinfectant. Martha was a good woman and kept her kids in order. It was that the very thought of lice made her crawl all over.
    She was not sure if it had been wise to give the woman a bag full of groceries – if other customers