Foundry closes at six on a Friday, and all the men go to the pub. Even Pa, though he ain’t much of a drinker and he don’t never come home and black Ma’s eyes.
Quarter after six one Friday night we hears his boots outside. He come in grinning. Handed Ma his unopened pay packet then put something small and wriggling on her lap. She looked down with a smile pulling at her lips.
“Aye.” Then his smile broadened. “And if a man got a working dog at home he can’t afford to to go to the pub…”