Dancing in the Moonlight by Rita Bradshaw Page A

straight
back and tell him that.’
    ‘Be reasonable, lass.’ Donald’s voice verged on tearful.
    ‘Reasonable?’
Lucy stared at him, this brother she felt she didn’t know any more. At first she had put Donald’s withdrawal and long silences down to shock at
what he’d experienced. He and Ernie had always been close, only two years separating them, and she knew Donald had hero-worshipped his big brother, content to follow where Ernie had led. Now
it seemed as though Donald’s mainspring had snapped. And she felt sorry for him, she knew he was suffering too. That’s why she had let him sit huddled in front of the range day after
day, cloaked in a silence even the twins hadn’t tried to penetrate.
    Donald and Jacob had gone to the mortuary together to officially identify the bodies, both adamant that she remained at home. And she had agreed to this, mainly because the grim-faced policeman
who had called at the house to tell them about Walter and Ernie had made it clear the identification would be harrowing. There had been some sort of an investigation, but the verdict had been that
the two men had fallen into the docks while intoxicated and been crushed by one of the vessels in the water. Now the police had released the bodies for burial.
    Lucy took a deep breath, lowering her voice as she said, ‘It’s not a matter of being reasonable, Donald. Tom Crawford is responsible for Da and Ernie dying, and you know that as well
as I do, and I don’t care how much you try and say different. And to do what he did afterwards, branding them as drunkards and throwing them in the—’ She stopped abruptly, her
throat filling. It was some moments before she could continue and, when she did, her voice was resolute. ‘I don’t want anything from him. We’ll manage.’ Somehow.
    She turned back to the vegetables she was preparing for the rabbit broth they were having later that day for dinner. Jacob had dropped the rabbits in the night before, already cut into joints,
and she had accepted them gratefully. The money Tom had given her father was gone and Donald’s dole money didn’t go far. They were weeks behind with the rent. The police investigation
had delayed the funeral. It was now three weeks since her father and Ernie had died, but Lucy had used the time to sell the brass bed in the front room along with her father’s and
Ernie’s Sunday suits and shirts. She had kept the proceeds to pay for the funeral. Even so, her father’s and Ernie’s send-off would be a poor affair and there would be no wake
afterwards, not when the cupboards were bare of food and she didn’t know where the next penny was coming from. If only Donald would look for work, or at the very least go beachcombing or
hunting for rabbits or pigeons in the countryside. But no, he sat on his backside in front of the range with his head in his hands.
    What were they going to do?
Panic swept over her and she swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Jacob had tried to reassure her that Donald would pull himself together once the
funeral was over, but she had sensed he didn’t believe what he was saying. Neither did she. But she was praying it was so.
    The joint service for Walter and his son was held a few days later on a sunny May morning that seemed to mock the family’s grief. Whether it was the shadow of impropriety
over the manner of the deaths that discouraged attendance or the absence of a wake, Lucy didn’t know, but numbers were few. She didn’t mind this. Several of Ernie’s friends and a
couple of her father’s old pals were at the church, along with one or two neighbours, but everyone seemed awkward and uncomfortable. Lucy had insisted that she was present and Donald
hadn’t argued. Enid had stayed behind to look after Ruby, John and the twins, and Lucy stood between Donald and Jacob during the short service, but she was vitally aware of Tom Crawford the
whole time. He stood with his father and other brothers in