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Informationen zum Autor Catherine Cookson Klappentext Originally published: Great Britain: Macdonald, 1952. Chapter One: The Brothers 'Hannah, drop that an' come an' see. The O'Briens are at it again...blue murder! Come on. Come upstairs, you can see better from our top window.' Wiping the soap suds from her arms, Hannah Kelly hastily lifted the lid of the wash-house boiler, scooped off the grey scum with an enamel mug, dabbed the contents of the boiler with a stick, then ran out of the wash-house and across the backyard, thinking as she did so, 'Eeh, I haven't got time for this...And our Joe warned me.' She caught up with her neighbour as she was opening the stair door. 'Who is it this time? The old man?' 'Yes.' 'Who's he at? Dominic!' 'Aye.' 'Are they drunk?' 'Are they ever owt else?' They scurried across the kitchen to the front room, and automatically took up their stations, one at each side of the window, bodies close to the wall, heads held slightly to the side against the mesh of the Nottingham lace curtains, their arms wound tightly in their aprons. 'My God, what a mess, Bella!' 'He must have thrown them two pictures out since I came down for you.' 'Eeh, God Almighty! It's a shame. Just as Mary Ellen was getting things pulled together again.' 'Look' -- there was glee in Bella's voice -- 'there they are at the window throttling each other. Christ!' she exclaimed as something came hurtling through the window into the street, 'which one missed that, I wonder?' 'Eeh! he's thrown the pot through the window. Oh, Bella, that'll bring the pollis. God Almighty, it's awful! It's enough to bring on the bairn...she's at the worst time, on eight months.' 'Best thing that could happen. Who wants a bairn at forty-five, I ask you? She should have been more cute. Anyway, she wouldn't listen to me. I told her I could get her a bottle of white mixture from our Harry's Emma, who scrubs the wards up at the grubber; the nurses would have given it to her. It would have skited everything out of her.' 'Well, you know she wouldn't do that, she's a Catholic, Bella.' 'Catholic, be damned! They tell 'em to have bairns, but do they bloody well keep them? I'd like to see any priest tell me I must have bairns. Do you know what I'd say?' Hannah chuckled. 'I've a pretty good idea...Look, there she is, there's Mary Ellen. She looks like death.' They both became silent and watched the woman below picking up the two picture frames from the road. The loose glass splintered about her feet as she shook the frames, and as she shooed some children away from the broken chamber, Hannah remarked, regretfully, 'Pity about that. It was a boody one, too.' Unblinkingly they watched the woman edge her way indoors, with neither a glance upwards nor to the right or left, although as they knew, she was fully aware of the watchers. Only the children were on the street, staring silently until the door closed, when they drew nearer, and some daring spirits, braving the glass, hitched themselves up on the high window sill to get their faces level with the hole. But as they did so the blind was dropped, and Hannah exclaimed, clicking her tongue, 'She shouldn't have done that -- dropping the blind right down before dark -- it's the sign of a death. It'll be the bairn, likely.' 'Damn good job too. Better if it was her old man though, in case he lands her with another.' They turned slowly from the window, and Hannah said, 'By, that wouldn't have happened if John had been in; he'd have put a stop to that...Funny, isn't it, Bella, that the old man doesn't go for John.' 'Not funny a bit. He's afraid of him, if the truth was known. Old O'Brien and Dominic are both alike, full of wind and water. That's why they fight...By God! I wish I was in Mary Ellen's place for five minutes. I'd lay thos...
