SEVEN
The growing bleakness in her soul.
Joe Garforth, Jack’s eldest surviving son, put down his knife and fork, took another sip of tea and picked up the Daily Sketch again, quickly scanning the headlines before throwing it aside. He had finished his shift at two o'clock and now felt restless and irritable, checking the time from the clock on the mantle shelf every minute or so; it was now just gone a quarter past three.
His wife, Lizzie, came over and took away his plate. ‘Do you want anything else, Joe? Another cuppa?’
‘No thanks, Lizzie love, I'm away down the Institute in a minute and if I have more tea, there'll not be no room for ale.’
At that, Lizzie pursed her mouth tightly in disapproval, pressing her lips into a thin-cut scar of displeasure. Like all the other miners, Joe h
