William picked up a cloth and swung the iron door of the range open, waving away the sudden rush of heat. “Tha shouldn’t be baking. Not in that condition”, he said, turning his head to glance accusingly at his mother. “We could just as well have bread an’ jam. We’ll not starve”.
Mary pursed her lips and leaning her elbow on the kitchen table, rubbed her brow wearily. “Enough William! We’re not so poor that we can’t afford a Sunday joint and I’ll not see it wasted. Besides, tha father’ll not stand for bread an’ jam after a day in the foundry”.
William hung the cloth on the oven door deliberately firmly. “He’s not here to stand for anything. It’s already gone six”..
Mary lifted her eyes sharply and brought her palm down on the table top. “Watch tha tongue lad. Tha’s not too old to feel the back of my hand”.