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sister.
    â€˜I’m thinking of going on the stage,’ Nell announced to the consternation of her mother.
    â€˜I’ll come and watch you any day,’ Samuel grinned, making Nell giggle.
    But as far as Emmie knew, her sister was cleaning Dr Jameson’s surgery and running messages. A card had come on her tenth birthday, but she had heard nothing for over a month. An Easter visit had been called off because of a freak snowfall on the fell. Instead, Emmie had gone to chapel with the Currans and the planned picnic had ended in a snowball fight, with Tom Curran shoving an icy snowball down her back. High-spirited Tom was belted by his father for making Emmie cry. Full of remorse for getting him into trouble, Emmie had given him her paste egg.
    Emmie was at the Currans’ now, helping Louise’s mother make egg sandwiches for the Sunday school outing to Oliphant’s Wood. The houses in Denmark Street for colliery officials were bigger than most, with proper stairs up to two bedrooms, which had fireplaces and casement windows instead of skylights. No Curran needed to sleep in the kitchen, which Mrs Curran kept spotlessly clean and tidy. No matter that her husband was an important deputy at the pit, he was not allowed beyond the scullery door with his filthy pit clothes and boots. Tom had to change in the wash house and hop across the yard in his underdrawers, to Emmie’s blushing amusement.
    Today Tom was getting his own back. As the youngsters set off up the cinder track to the woods, he pulled the ribbons out of Emmie’s hair and ran off laughing.
    Furious, Emmie dropped her parcel of sandwiches and ran after him.
    â€˜Come back. I hate you!’
    She was lithe and fast, but no match for brawny Tom, who pushed tub loads of coal for miles underground and could sprint like a hare.
    â€˜If you want them, come and get them!’ Tom taunted, and disappeared into a mass of bluebells among the trees.
    Emmie thrashed around, trying to find him, growing crosser and crosser as her wavy dark hair fell in front of her eyes.
    Suddenly, Tom reared from behind a tree with a deafening roar. Emmie screamed, making him hoot with laughter. He dangled the ribbons at her. She lunged.
    â€˜Give ’em over, Tom!’
    â€˜Give me a kiss first,’ he challenged.
    Emmie looked at him in disgust. ‘I don’t kiss lads.’
    â€˜No ribbons then.’
    Emmie turned her back and stalked off. Tom ploughed after her, trampling bluebells.
    â€˜A secret then,’ he bargained.
    Emmie stopped and faced him. ‘What d’you mean?’
    â€˜You tell me a secret and I’ll give you yer ribbons.’
    â€˜Don’t have any,’ she said impatiently.
    Tom stood over her, tall and grinning, his hazel eyes teasing. For the first time it occurred to Emmie he would be considered handsome.
    â€˜Who’s your favourite lad - out of them MacRaes?’
    Emmie was nonplussed. ‘I don’t have one. They’re all canny.’
    Suddenly, Tom caught her by the arm. ‘If there was an accident at the pit and only one of them was saved - which one would it be?’
    Emmie swallowed. Tom was not smiling any more.
    â€˜You have to say or you won’t get your ribbons back ever.’ His grip tightened on her arm. Fear flickered in her stomach.
    â€˜Rab,’ she whispered.
    Instantly, Tom loosened his hold and was smiling again.
    â€˜Here you are,’ he said, offering the green ribbons. Before she knew it, he was planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek.
    â€˜Ugh!’ Emmie cried, wiping it off, which only made him laugh.
    He watched her tie back her hair into lop-sided bunches.
    â€˜Funny,’ he mused, ‘I thought you would’ve chosen Sam.’
    She gave him a sharp look. ‘I didn’t mean what I said. Wouldn’t want any of ’em to die. You were just being daft.’
    He laughed and lunged at her ribbons again, but she darted out of the way