work had been taken from him.
Suzie could take her mind far enough back to imagine the way of life James Bootle had lost in the 1850s. Nick could only feel sadness for the loss of his grandparentsâ world.
They enjoyed a homemade lunch in the museum café. Nick chased the last crumbs of a rhubarb-and-apple crumble round his bowl.
âI wonder how Thelmaâs getting on at the hospital. Visiting hours donât start till the afternoon, but it sounded as if they were letting her see him this morning.â
âYou could ring her.â
âIâm not even sure if sheâs got a mobile.â
They stepped out of the café on to the canal-side. Millie looked along the once-busy waterway. Derelict mills stretched into the distance. Only the textile museum was a hive of activity.
âWhat do
people
do
with all these empty buildings?â Millie asked. âThere must be something going on, mustnât there?â
THREE
N ick checked his watch. âItâs only early afternoon. If Thelmaâs gone to visit Uncle Martin, she wonât be home yet. Do you feel like a walk along the canal? Iâd like to take a look at Hugh Street, where my family used to live. We could drive round, but itâll be more interesting on foot than taking the car.â
âIâm fine with that,â Suzie said. âIs that OK with you, Millie?â
âI suppose so.â Millie dug her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. âItâs a bit creepy, though. Those mill chimneys. If you stand too close and look up, you feel theyâre going to fall on top of you.â
âIâm sure they wouldnât have left them if they were unsafe,â Suzie reassured her. âThere used to be a spate of programmes on TV about blowing up chimneys like these. Thereâs an art in getting them to collapse just where you want them to. I havenât seen one of those for a while.â
They were walking along the muddy towpath, avoiding the puddles. Nick peered through a gap in the stone wall alongside them. âThey may have left the chimney, but the rest of the mill has gone. Thereâs just an empty space and a bit of rubble.â
Suzie looked across the canal. âThere are plenty of them still standing on the other side. But they all look empty. The lower windows are boarded up or theyâve got metal grilles over them.â
âGran said they needed those big windows for the weaving sheds,â Nick said. âIt could be freezing cold in the morning, but once you got all those looms working at once, they generated a terrific heat. And they had to have good light for mending broken threads or spotting a dodgy patch in the weaving. If the overlooker said your work wasnât good enough youâd to unpick the weft and do it all again. And you were paid by the piece, so that meant you lost money.â
The stone wall of the demolished mill ended. They were walking now beneath the towering brickwork of another derelict mill, four storeys high.
âSomeoneâs gone a bit mad with the graffiti on this one,â Millie observed. âItâs not exactly a Banksy artwork, is it?â
The dark wall of the mill overlooking the canal had been daubed with letters in black and red a metre high. Nick read one message aloud.
âThey called to the mountains and rocks, âFall on us and hide us from the wrath of the Lord.ââ
âCheerful,â said Millie. âHow about this one?
He shall drink the wine of Godâs wrath, poured unmixed into the cup of his anger, and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels.
Itâs enough to put you off religion altogether, isnât it?â
âItâs from the Book of Revelation,â Suzie said. âThe last book of the bible. Written when the Church was undergoing martyrdom. John wrote it after he fled to the island of Patmos in fear of his life. He had this