"Is body was made infirm by that accident years back. Age just made it worse. It just gave out."

Bill nodded to show that he had heard her. He stared at his cup silently. Took it in his hand. Didn't drink but rather turned it around on the table slowly. It made a quiet, scraping noise as it moved on the wooden surface. "I'm sorry," he finally said quietly, still staring at the cup without seeing it. "I'm sorry I didn't come when you asked me to. I was ashamed."

"What's done is done, Billy. Moapin' about it won't bring him back." She said plainly. He would have to eat his grief and let time heal it. "Maybe its time ta be part of the family again." She quietly patted his wrist.

"Now. You miss my funeral an' I'll feckin' 'aunt you till you die just ta get some peace and quiet. " She added in just the way a sister could.

The large man sat stooped in his chair, watching the steam over his cup. When she spoke, turned his eyes up and met hers warily. Did she know what she was suggesting? The children would meet her. They would ask questions. How could he deal with those, when he braced himself to her mere presence, lest memories awoke that he had put to rest. What was the point now, anyway?

When she joked, he flashed a smile that didn't meet his apprehensive eyes. Back in the reformatory, when Mam had suddenly fallen ill, he had not been able to say goodbye to her or ask for forgiveness. Now his indecision had robbed him of the chance to talk to his father one last time. Aye, he did not want the same experience all over.

But he was not her brother anymore. She was a stranger, and her home was no longer his. Homesickness had been one of the first torments had manage to overcome, somewhere in the first month of his sentence, by shrinking from any memory of his family or Billy, and willingly becoming boy 89. The 'Bill' that had returned to them had been neither son nor brother. Their presence had made him feel suffocated, and he had felt relieved when he left several months later. He had been happy to live his own life. How could he be a brother now?

Yet he wavered.

"I wouldn't. I won't ignore yer letters anymore, I promise," he gave in, hoping the admission would buy him time to respond to the other suggestion. "How's Frank?"

"Frank? He's fine. His daughters keep 'im busy enough, courtin' age. Ye know young kids, an' the way they are. I understand ye 'ave kids of yer own now." she said, the conversation was light, airy, to rebalance the atmosphere leaden with guilt and grief.

Bill nodded slowly, still feeling dazed. "Aye, they're a handful of trouble themselves." Not that he was going to go into detail. She already judged him as a son and a brother. He didn't need her judging his parenting as well. "John, our eldest is in t' army, over in India." Or was in Egypt now? "Ruth, our second's a maid." And a mother without a husband, but no need to mention the elopement drama either. "Joe's looking for a job." That was as respectable as he could make Joe sound. "And our Kate's a pupil teacher. She's doin' well. We're 'opin' she can get a Queen's scholarship." Not that he had a favourite.

"Aye, that so? Four grown ones doin' an 'onest days work. Ye must be proud. Ye've not done bad Billy. " she said with definate cheer. A practiced eye ran over the room. Dirt and grime leapt from every surface "Though could ye not have married a better 'ousekeeper?"

Bill flashed a smile slightly more genuine when she praised him. Aye, he did feel he hadn't done badly, given where he had come from. Or at least he had felt that way until his offspring had started getting themselves into trouble, making him wonder where he had gone wrong and whether he had passed on bad blood.

But Jane's next remark did not land well. He looked up defensively. "Lottie's the best woman in all of England! She's kind an' sweet an' smart an' 'ardworkin', and she knows 'ow to keep a house and raise bairns. She makes us 'appy! I couldn't 'ave married a better woman!" He eyes rested on her darkly as if daring her to disagree with him.

"Oh Billy, I'm sure ye chose well enough." Jane answered, conscious that insulting a man's wife was probably a misstep. "But, don't ye worry, I'll 'ave a word with her and teach her some of the things we do at the clinic. I'm sure yer girl Katie could learn a tip or two as well."

Suffice to say Sister Jane Blacke was in her element on the front line of the Victorian fight against grime in the pursuit of better health. The fight against her own brother, the outcome of that battle remained in doubt.

Well enough. Bill didn’t like the way she spoke. Who was Jane to come here and judge his wife? Jane was a stranger. She belonged to the ‘before’, a past that was dead to him. Lottie and the children were his life now, and this uninvited memory had no right to just break in and judge it.

Worse than that… meet his family… oh God.

Bill could just about imagine how Lottie would handle being ‘taught' how to keep a house… She would have absolutely none of it. It was better for both if they were kept well apart. And as for Kate, there was no way his children could meet Jane, and, God forbid, ask questions.

Bill’s face had turned an unhealthy grey again His hands wrapped around the cup just a little too firmly. He watched it, avoiding her gaze once again. “Say, Jane. I don’t think that’s a good idea, really,” he spoke uncomfortably. “We weren’t expecting anyone and I don’t want to stress Lottie out. I could come up north sometime…”