Mary moved her hand from the door frame and eased herself up so that her eyes were level with the twisted expression staring malevolently at her. Moving the flat of her hand over the swelling her misted eyes widened appealingly.
“A snatched crumb doesn’t make for a feast when tha bellies empty”. Charlie growled, his words punching the air.
Turning on his heel he strode angrily across the stone floor to the aging wooden dresser that stood in the corner by the range. Mary stepped forward to follow him as he reached up and ran his hand across the top of the dresser until it the old tea tin was knocked from its hiding place. The tin fell to the floor, the lid rolling across the tiled floor and vanishing under the table. Charlie bent down and scooped up the few coins kept for a rainy day as Mary looked on in dismay. Opening her mouth to speak her protests were dismissed by an enraged glance as Charlie grabbed his jacket from the chair back and turned the key in the lock. Swinging the door open he stormed out into the yard, not turning to see the tear roll slowly down his wife’s cheek. Mary staggered back to bury her head in her hands on the kitchen table.