Chapter 8

When the barber and the baker approached the kitchen, they were greeted by the smell of the dinner that Mrs. Clint had prepared for that evening. It was a smell unlike anything Nellie had known for a very long time. It vaguely reminded her of the meals that her mother used to cook when she was just a little girl, in an age where they hadn't lived in London yet and three proper meals a day were still normal. Even when the baker had had enough money to afford such meals again, she had never had the time to prepare them – and it was not as if she was actually hungry after another day of chopping up human bodies anyway.

There was something about that smell that made her stop dead in her tracks. If Mr. Todd hadn't been paying such close attention to her, he would've collided with her.

Mrs. Lovett breathed in deeply, the delicious scent so unfamiliar that she had almost forgotten what it was like to smell something that she actually wanted to eat, something that she could enjoy even if she wouldn't be so hungry as she was now.

The realization that a part of this food was apparently meant for her made her body come back to life. She was strangely aware of how her weakened muscles readied themselves, preparing to rush to the table and fill the stomach that hadn't known a decent meal for a very long time. And judging from the smell that reached her nose already, this smell was going to be a lot more than simply 'decent'.

Just when she was about to move forward, to step into the kitchen at last, her entire being focused on nothing but the food that was awaiting her, she was stopped by something.

Confused for a moment, her distracted mind not being aware any longer of what was going on around her, she tried to set another step. Again she didn't move forward. Only then she realized that there was a very good reason for this; Mr. Todd's arm was wrapped around her waist, preventing her from entering the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a lot harsher than she intended it to be.

"The two of us will have dinner alone," Sweeney said, addressing Mrs. Clint as she entered the kitchen, carrying a large bowl of cuts of freshly baked bread with her.

At the sight of even more food, Mrs. Lovett struggled against the solid grasp of Mr. Todd's arms. She was somewhat aware that her behavior was far from appropriate and that this was the last thing that she wanted in the barber's company, but she couldn't care less about such things as the hunger that had followed her for years and had especially tormented her during the past few weeks, completely caught up with her out of nowhere. It seemed to force her to make up for all the uncomfortable hours that she had forced herself to ignore the hunger that racked her already petite frame.

She was hardly aware of Sweeney's voice, as all her attention was focused on the bowl that was filled completely with bread that looked better than anything that she had eaten for a very long time.

"Come with me," he said, but she didn't even hear him, even though there was an authority in his voice that would've made her nervous only minutes ago.

"Mum!" Teddy yelled, noticing what was going on. "What's wrong?"

She did hear her nephew, his voice only slightly stronger than the feeling within her that drew her towards the table on which so much food was just waiting to be eaten. She couldn't answer him however, just shook her head as if to dismiss his worry.

"Victoria," Mr. Todd said, addressing the girl who was looking at the scene that was enfolding in front of her with wide eyes.

As far as the baker was aware he didn't say anything else to the girl, but she stood up, taking an empty bowl from the table and filling it with large spoonfuls op soup that turned out to be in the large pan that was standing in the middle of the table.

There was something about the sight of that deliciously smelling soup that made her desire to eat even more unbearable and her frustration with Mr. Todd's actions even greater. She had no idea why he was holding her like this, preventing her from properly eating at last.

She tugged at his arm, trying to break free, but it was no use. The barber usually was much stronger than her to begin with, and especially now that she was so weak with hunger, she was no match for him.

Mrs. Clint seemed to realize what was going on now as well, even though the baker herself didn't understand at all what was happening, why everybody was acting so frantically after Mr. Todd had addressed his ward. His housekeeper took another empty plate and filled it with large slices of bread, taking them from the huge bowl that she had carried into the kitchen earlier.

"She'll be all right," she heard Sweeney vaguely say to Teddy, who had stood up, looking at the barber as if he wanted to break his aunt free himself.

The baker didn't know how this situation could be 'all right' as long as he didn't allow her to eat.

"Let me go," she growled, large eyes focused on the food that was being rearranged right in front of her eyes now.

"Soon," he simply said.

Before she knew what was happening, he had lifted her up, simply taking her in his arms as if she weighted nothing at all - which wasn't far from reality.

He carried her back into the parlor. Mrs. Lovett struggled with the power that she still possessed, a strange kind of despair taking over her as he took her away from the food that she had just seen and smelled. Food that she had almost tasted already, food that could free her from the dull emptiness within her, from the throbbing inside her stomach that reminded her night and day that she couldn't go on like this for much longer.

"You'll get as much to eat as you want," he said, holding her tightly even as he placed her back on her feet.

The girl and the woman followed them and Teddy trailed behind him, obviously shocked by what he was witnessing.

As soon as she was standing again however, he made her sit down next to him on the carpet in his parlor, right between the largest couch and the table on which Victoria and Mrs. Clint placed the bowl and plate that they had filled moments ago.

"We'll eat here alone," Sweeney said again.

Victoria nodded and followed Mrs. Clint, who was already heading back to the kitchen. Teddy was still standing in the parlor however, looking at his aunt with big, worried eyes.

"He will take care of her," Victoria said, noticing the boy's distress.

Teddy looked at her before his gaze returned to the baker. He didn't seem to be very inclined to believe her, let alone to let his aunt go out of his sight.

"She's in good hands," the girl added, placing her arm around the boy's shoulders.

Teddy blinked, surprised by the gesture, and then nodded, trusting Victoria implicitly.

If Mrs. Lovett would've been aware of it, she would've been proud of the way he controlled himself and she would've been fascinated by the way that he listened to the older girl. The baker's world however was reduced to the food that was standing on the table in front of her now, just out of her reach, and the two strong arms that prevented her from moving towards the steaming soup and deliciously smelling bread.

The boy and the girl left the parlor as well, leaving the barber and the baker alone there, closing the door behind them.

Mrs. Lovett tried to free herself once again, but this attempt was in vain as well. She was more frustrated by this than ever before, the food that was right in front of her driving her wild because it was just out of her reach.

"I had no idea you were in such a bad situation," Sweeney said, but she hardly realized. "If I would've known..."

She wriggled her body against the barber's, not ceasing her attempt to break free now that he was talking to her. Mr. Todd groaned, but she wasn't aware that it had much more to do with the way she moved her body against his own than any actual discomfort that she caused.

"You're starving," he said, and she would've rolled her eyes because of the statement that was so completely redundant in her own ears if it hadn't been for her lacking capability to understand what he was actually saying. "You want to eat now as much as you can and the reason that I won't let you is that you'll get sick if you will. Your stomach is not accustomed to good meals any longer and you'll regret it later when you'd eat now as much as you usually would."

"I don't care," she muttered, the soup and bread seeming to be mocking her now from their place on the table, mere inches away from her reaching hands.

"You will," he said, managing to speak even though the baker's body tormented his own. "Believe me, I would know. Besides, this bread comes straight from the oven and Mrs. Clint took the soup from the fire only moments ago. If you eat it now, you'll certainly burn your mouth and I don't want that to happen – and neither do you."

Mrs. Lovett began to see that listening to him and doing what he said was the only way to actually reach the food that was standing so deceptively close to her, but what he was saying to her didn't make much sense to her. She wanted to eat the glorious food that was standing in front of her eyes and she didn't care about anything else at that moment.

"If I would've known how hungry you were, I would've made sure you could get something to eat as soon as we left Fleet Street. You managed to hide however very well what you needed the most – but you've always been rather good at that."

There was a hint of admiration in his voice and although this was something that she basically had been willing to kill for in the past, she didn't even notice it now.

The only thing that was of importance was that he reached for the plate filled with slices of bread that she had been so desperate to touch herself. He took one piece and even as he did so, the baker reached for it as well, trying to get it in her own hands.

"I know it's difficult, but try to be patient. I'm trying to help."

"That would be a first," the baker growled, the frustration that he was causing now mixing with the desperation that she had experienced for years because of his incapability to return her feelings for him, or even acknowledge them.

The barber was perfectly quiet for a long moment as she said those words. He neither replied to her outburst or – which she found much worse – moved the slice of bread closer to her. It didn't even enter her mind that he might be hurt by what she just had said.

"Maybe you should try getting used to it," he said at length, "for I don't intend this to be the last time."

The words were meaningless to her, both her eyes and her being solely fixed on the bread that he was holding, moving it closer to both of them. He extended his arm however when she attempted to take it from her again. To her bewilderment, he began moving the bread in the air, seemingly waving it at random.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, wondering whether he had gone mad after all, doing such strange things with the bread that she wanted – needed - to eat. Maybe he had decided to punish her after all for what she had indirectly done to Lucy – maybe all the care and affection he seemed to have showed towards her had been nothing but a hallucination, caused at least partly by the lack of food. Either way, she had to had the food that he was withholding from her.

"You can't eat this while it's still so hot," he simply said. "I'm trying to cool it down."

It was in her eyes a ridiculous statement and the feeling that the barber wasn't who he had been pretending to be after all grew stronger within her. There was nothing she could do however now that she was sitting on the floor of his parlor with the two arms wrapped tightly around her.

After a moment that could've been either a few minutes or a few hours long, he managed to tear the slice of bread into several smaller pieces, using his legs to keep her body trapped against his own. The baker could only stare as he tore the slice apart, wondering if this was another, ultimate attempt to make her suffer in exchange for the grief she had caused him by not telling him the truth about his wife.

Mrs. Lovett almost began to expect that the barber would throw the remains of the bread on the floor or into the fire next, if only to show her how much power he had over her, that he could starve her to death in this very room if he wanted to do so.

Instead of doing so however, he handed her one of the small pieces of bread. For a moment the baker didn't even believe that he was doing so, staring at the food as if it was some sort of trick that would make her situation even worse.

Her mind snapped out of this soon as pure instinct took over. She snatched the piece of bread out of his hand and stuffed it into her mouth, swallowing it almost immediately, if only to make sure that he couldn't take it away from her anymore.

"Chew," he said, but he might as well not have spoken at all.

When he offered her a second piece, and a third, she eat it in the same way, the bread hardly touching the inside of her mouth before it was swallowed already.

It doubtlessly was delicious bread – something that smelled so good couldn't possibly taste any less. The bread's taste was the last thing that the baker was aware of however, even though a part of her mind was yelling at her to savor this now that she actually had the chance.

But mostly, she simply wanted to eat, to fill her empty stomach with anything that was only somewhat edible, to make up for some of the time that she had lived with ever present hunger.

When she had eaten all the pieces that until recently had formed one slice of bread, Mr. Todd gave her no more. The baker gave a frustrated huff, but the majority of the despair that she had felt earlier had disappeared now that she had slaked at least some of her hunger.

As Sweeney took another slice of bread from the plate, tearing it to pieces just like he had done with the first part, she became more aware of what was going on around her. She found herself sitting on the floor of his parlor, the thick carpet that was beneath her making this a rather comfortable experience. Mr. Todd was sitting right behind her, his back resting against the large couch that was right behind him. The baker herself was leaning against Sweeney, his legs and arms surrounding her, something of which she hadn't really been aware of before.

"More," she said, "I need more."

"I know," he replied. "You will have more. But not too fast. You'll throw up later this evening if you eat so much in a short period of time, and you'll get painful cramps."

The baker was inwardly still screaming with indignation, but a part of her had to admit now that there might be some truth to the barber's words.

"Try to chew," he said as he gave her a new piece of breath after a long minute.

This time, she did as he told her. Obeying him was easier now that she wasn't as desperate to eat as she had been before any longer. Just like he had predicted, eating was much more pleasant now that she was actually aware of the structure and taste of the bread that she was so eager to eat. She could somehow appreciate the bread now as more than just a way to fill her stomach at last. She still ate too fast to truly taste it, but her senses were aware now that the bread was delicious indeed.

The rest of that second slice of bread followed in a similar fashion. The baker relaxed slowly as she ate at last, and so did the grasp of the barber around her.

He let go off her as she had eaten the second slice of bread entirely. It surprised her; she was actually somewhat disappointed because of it. No matter how frustrating and humiliating it had been to be captured in the cage that his body had formed around her, she had enjoyed his physical closeness when his grasp had relaxed without being fully aware of it.

The barber stayed close to her however. He remained sitting where he was, still letting her lean back against him. There was nothing intimidating about his presence any longer and she wondered what had happened to her to make her so suspicious of him only moments ago. Even the memories of the most recent past were somehow vague now that she had finally eaten. She couldn't fully remember what she had said or done, and she could only hope that she hadn't embarrassed herself.

"Take another one," he said quietly, giving her another slice of bread, this time without reducing it to smaller pieces. "But take small bites, and don't forget to chew."

It didn't bother her that he was talking to her in a way she would address Teddy when he wasn't eating his food properly, in a usually rather feeble attempt to teach the boy some manners. She didn't feel like a child however when Mr. Todd was talking to her like that. If anything, she felt grateful that he cared enough to protect her against herself, to help her with a situation that he probably had had much experience himself after having lived in the colony for so long.

She brought the slice of bread to her mouth, taking a small bite just like the barber had said. It was much easier to do so now that most of her initial hunger was satisfied and the urge to eat wasn't overpowering her any longer. She could also appreciate the actual taste of the bread now. Just like she had vaguely thought when she had smelled it for the first time, it was unlike anything she had ever eaten, not even when she had been able to afford proper food.

It tasted like ordinary bread – well made bread, with good and fresh ingredients – but at the same time there was something about it that made it unlike any other bread she had ever eaten. Maybe there were some sort of spices in it that gave the bread its unique taste, Mrs. Lovett didn't know. She might ask Mrs. Clint or Sweeney himself later, but for now she was more than content just to eat the bread.

Eating wasn't something she usually paid much attention to. Mostly she refused to think about it too much, because it was an activity of which she often couldn't be sure how or when it would be repeated. Every once in a while she had taken a small pie or a piece of bread from the bakery where she had worked for years, refusing to call it stealing because that word just didn't seem right to her when her own life was at stake. But when the owner had caught her in the act, she hadn't dared doing so any longer, no matter how hungry she was and how much the freshly bakes items tempted her. She truly couldn't afford to lose the job – but eventually she had anyway, simply because the bakery closed after it had gone bankrupt, just like so many other small stores.

But even when she had had enough money to buy enough food to feed herself properly, in a past long ago when the barber had still lived with her, eating was something that she had done in a hurry, because other and more pressing matters had always awaited her.

Right now however there were no pies that had to be baked or bodies that needed to be chopped up. Now, she simply was too tired to wonder whether there was a chance she would have another such a wonderful meal in the barber's house the next day. So she simply relaxed and enjoyed the moment, eating relatively slowly while the barber was physically supporting her body with his own.

When she had eaten the slice of bread, she'd like to have another one. As her stomach began to process the rich food, the hunger that she had felt for so long that she hadn't really been aware of it until she had been confronted with the large quantity of food in the kitchen in Mr. Todd's house, began to fade completely at last. She took another slice of bread because she wanted it, not because she needed it. To her surprise, the barber let her, not saying anything when she began to eat the next slice of the loaf.

As this part of the bread was gone as well, the baker didn't take another one. She just remained sitting where she was, feeling perfectly at ease sitting on the floor with the barber close to her. She was content in a way of which she wasn't sure she had ever experienced before.

The barber moved and although she had distrusted him so much only moments ago, she kept sitting still when he reached for her instead of the food that was still standing on the table in front of them.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied. "It's just that I... I hadn't had such a meal for a long time. You were right when you said that I had to be careful. I'm sorry that I..."

Sweeney simply hushed her, apparently not interested in her apology.

"Hunger makes us do strange things," was all he said. "I've found this out myself and I don't blame you for anything."

Mrs. Lovett sighed, relieved. The hand that the barber had extended to her came, much to her surprise, to rest on her stomach. She had no idea why he touched her like that, but she found the gesture to be strangely comforting.

"Thank you," she said again, referring this time to more than just his worry for her.

She felt however that the words didn't fully contain all the gratitude that she felt for the way he was taking care of her now, supporting her as if he had done so for a long time already, as if it was only normal that he took care of her like this. One would almost forget that it had been the other way around for a long time. She wondered for a moment whether he was making up for that, whether he was thanking her now in kind.

Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she found herself reaching for him as well. Her own hand rested on the one of his that was on her stomach and he took her hand in his own almost immediately.

The barber and the baker sat like that for a long time. No words were said, but the usually talkative woman didn't mind at all. His thumb caressed the skin of the hand that he was holding and Mrs. Lovett sighed contently.

"Do you want some soup?" he asked after a few lazy and quiet minutes.

The baker considered the question for a moment. She wasn't feeling hungry any longer, but she probably would be again soon. And even if she wouldn't, it wouldn't hurt to eat more than she actually wanted to now, just in case. It was a lesson she had repeated to herself very often throughout the years; it seemed strange to ignore this now that she for once had the chance to really eat more than she needed at a particular moment.

"That would be lovely."

He let go off her hand and although this was a small disappointment, she didn't pay too much attention to it. The way he gently pushed against her back, helping her to sit up, made clear to her that the contact that had just ended wasn't a mere coincidence or accident; it really seemed now that she no longer had to savor even the smallest bit of his attention because the times that moments like that might as well be the last time he ever touched her, had passed after all.

She sat up, getting closer to the low table on which the remaining bread and the pan of still clearly warm soup was standing. Mr. Todd took a spoon from somewhere behind her and gave it to her; she didn't even want to know how he had managed to have taken it from the kitchen. He remained sitting behind her, declining against the front of the couch once more, but she sensed that he shifted a little to the right, so he could see her even though her back was still facing her.

The thought that he was watching her eat was a strange but not unpleasant one. She could almost feel how his eyes were taking her in, but there was nothing threatening or judgmental in his gaze. It didn't even make her nervous; to her it was a good sign that he was looking at her like this even now that she was eating.

The temperature of the soup was perfect, just like its taste. Although she couldn't actually recall seeing the barber eat, not even now, it seemed only normal somehow that all the food in his house was of the highest quality – she hadn't expected the soup to be any different. There was nothing special or exotic about it, except for the fact that it was exceptionally well made. Mrs. Lovett happily took spoonful after spoonful of the tomato soup, especially savoring the large chunks of vegetables in it and the actual pieces of meat.

When she had eaten as much out of the large bowl as she wanted, she intended to move backwards, so she could lean against the couch just like the barber was doing. She could certainly use another lazy moment; she was filled with food in a way of which she had forgotten what it was like, but not in a uncomfortable way.

As she did so however, the barber moved as well, causing her to move right against him. She automatically opened her mouth to apologize, if only because she was still so used to a barber who didn't liked to be touched, especially not in such a way. Before she had the chance, he embraced her once again from behind, pulling her against him.

Realizing that the collision wasn't an accident at all, the baker gladly surrendered to his hug, the gesture still so new and unexpected that it exhilarated her. His body more comfortable to her than any couch or chair would ever be, she leaned back against his chest and rested her head on his shoulder.

She still half expected him to push her away from him, to be horrified by the liberties she was taking with his person, but none of this happened, making clear to her once more that the barber had indeed changed a lot.

"You aren't very well, are you?"

The question caught her off guard. No one had asked her so directly how she was doing – ever. Not to mention that no one had ever implied such things about her health and situation with only a few words. The fact that Mr. Todd was the one doing so only made it more unusual, but that's why she appreciated even more. She didn't blame him for the suggestive question; in retrospect, it must've been obvious to him that she wasn't as well as she pretended to be – the way she reacted when she had entered the kitchen earlier had probably only confirmed his suspicion.

"No, I'm not well."

All the intentions she had had earlier to hide the true despair of her situation from him were gone. It seemed only foolish now to deceive him. He had been very honest with her so far – or at least, she was rather convinced that he had been – and she felt that she could trust, even with this. There was no longer any shame in admitting that life hadn't been as kind to her as to the man who lived a life of luxury now but who had almost been unable to make his own tea when he had lived with her.

For a long time, there was no reply. Instead of talking, his hands caressed her arms and shoulders, telling her with those touches that he was sorry for what had happened to her, that he hadn't been there to support her.

"What happened to you?"

There was no judgment in his voice when he spoke at last, not even a slight hint of amusement that her unfortunate situation as far as he was aware of it now might've caused. There was only curiosity that he didn't try to conceal, and most of all she was aware of the genuine interest and worry that was clearly audible when he spoke.

She trusted him now, relied on him not to ridicule her for what had happened to her now that his life had turned out so much better than her own. And so she told him everything.

The baker spoke freely of the fear and sadness she had felt when he had almost managed to throw her into an oven – emotions that had haunted her since that day. How she had fled as far away from London as she could, not even knowing where she was actually going. She told him that she had gone to Newcastle after a few particularly unpleasant months spent hiding in various towns and cities in the north of the country. Having told them that her husband had died recently and that she was tired of London anyway, her sister and the merchant she was still married to welcomed her in their own family. There was no reason for them not to believe her. When the rumors of the demon barber and baker reached Newcastle, Mrs. Lovett had always ensured both of them that she and Albert had moved away from Fleet Street long before and that she hadn't even heard of the horrendous murders until the moment that her sister had brought the stories up.

The family hadn't been a rich one. Although her brother-in-law's store had been successful at one point, times were hard in this part of England as well. Profits went down until they were almost nonexistent and Mrs. Lovett's sister had been forced to quit her job in the store, beginning to work as a servant for some of the few people who could still afford such things. Nellie herself found work in a large bakery. The pay was low and her boss was an unpleasant man, especially in the baker's eyes, who had been used to be her own employer and do whatever she wanted to in her own shop. Those days were over however and she had to do now whatever was necessary to contribute to the household that she had become part of.

When Mrs. Lovett was talking, the barber locked his hands in front of her. She was technically trapped against him once again, but she only felt safe and protected when he was holding her like that. Telling the story to him was easier than she had thought. The years of her life that she was currently describing hadn't been that bad, but things had gotten much worse before long. Even as she had been actually experiencing them, she hadn't wanted to think of what she was going through, fearing that just the knowledge of her poverty was too much to take.

Even when she was describing those times to the barber in detail, she didn't feel as if the despair that she had felt back then could still reach her, even though she had feared the opposite. But it turned out to feel actually good to talk about it. The barber was a quiet but very attentive listener, the way he was holding her silently supporting her in a way she had never been before. It seemed to her as if he was her anchor that held her safely in place in a world that was so much better than the one she had left – for the time being, at least.

Just like Nellie herself, her sister had never had any children. Thus their surprise and delight was great when she found herself expecting a child at an age that most women lost this ability. They couldn't afford to look after a baby, not really, but her sister and her husband had been craving to have a child for almost as long as they were married. The two truly loved each other, even after all this years, and it was something that Nellie could hardly understand. She had never known such a marriage after all. The baker herself was enthusiastic about her sister's pregnancy as well; she was very fond of children and her heart still ached for the adoptive son that she had lost, just like the rest of her former life.

During the next year, Nellie's sister had become the proud mother of a healthy and beautiful son. They decided to name him Teddy. It wasn't a name that they had actually considered in advance and there wasn't anyone with a similar name in both their families, but all the names that they had thought of earlier simply seemed unsuitable when they had looked at the baby for the very first time, cheerful and mischievous even moments after he was born. Giving birth hadn't been an easy process however. The baker's sister wasn't young any longer, not quite as healthy and strong as she once had been, and she would never fully recover from the pain and suffering of the last phase of her pregnancy.

Years passed and although all the family's money was spent on rent and food, they got by. The new parents were ecstatic to have their son, who they loved more every day. They were too happy to notice that Nellie herself wasn't doing well. She certainly was very fond of the boy, treating him as if he were her own. Indeed, he was the closest thing she had ever had to a son, and would ever have. A part of her blood ran through his veins and she was one of his carers from the day that he was born.

But Teddy wasn't truly her son and it was something that she just couldn't forget, even though her sister insisted that she was part of the family now and that the baker was Teddy's mother too, as far as she was concerned. The newfound happiness of the family reminded her however of other parents that she had once lived with, so close to her but so far away at the same time. Once again she wasn't really part of the joy that others so close to her felt. It reminded her too much of what she had never had in the past, of what she couldn't have now – of all the things that were lost when the man who once had been Benjamin Barker had tried to kill her, even though most of those things had never been more real than the fantasies in her head.

The shadow of the memory of Sweeney Todd never left her. Whatever she did, wherever she went, he was with her – he might as well have actually followed her, eyes dark and razor drawn. More than anything, she feared that he'd come back. She didn't fear his anger – she found herself wondering more and more often whether it wouldn't have been better if she had just allowed him to kill her all those years ago. She was afraid of his rejection, for being forced to hear again that he would never love her, not even like her – that she would never be even slightly like the woman who he had chosen.

When another few unremarkable years had passed, her sister's husband had become ill. He died of consumption within a few months and he was followed soon by his wife, the grief of the loss of her husband being too much for her body, that had also been weakened by her pregnancy. The young Teddy, only a few years old, ended up in the care of his aunt.

The baker hadn't mind looking after the boy on her own from then on. She loved the child and he was very fond of her, and due to his age he forgot very soon that she wasn't his real mother. Paying for all the necessary expenses was a rapidly growing problem however. The three adults had managed to pay for the things that the four of them needed the most, but when Nellie was on her own, she had to ensure financial stability all by herself. But even when she had worked as much hours as she could possibly take – taking Teddy with her to the bakery, because he had no other place to go when she was working – and moved to the cheapest rooms that were available, it hadn't been enough.

Things had really gotten difficult however when the bakery where she had worked since her arrival in Newcastle was closed as well, due to the ever increasing prices of flour and other ingredients for the bread and pies that were needed. Mrs. Lovett hadn't been able to find work in another bakery; there were plenty of women out there who were younger and easier than she was and where thus preferred over her. When even the last money was gone, there had been only one possible solution for her: returning to London in the hope of finding work in one of the large bakeries that she had struggled to keep up with when she still had a pie shop of her own.

Mrs. Lovett was very much aware that she was telling all this now to the barber. But she found it impossible to stop talking. It was not as if she was unfamiliar with this, but usually she chattered about anything and nothing at all, if only to cover her true feelings. The thoughts that she shared now however were the most personal ones she had, experiences of which she had been sure that she would take them with her into her grave. She had always been certain that she would share them with nobody, let alone the barber himself, but now that she was talking to him after all, it seemed like the only natural thing to do.

"I never wanted to see you again," she said, staring at the still burning fire not far away from her as the barber's hands were entwined, resting on her stomach, "and at the same time, I felt that I couldn't live without you."

She turned around, wanting to look at the barber's face at last. It had been easier not to see him earlier, when she had poured out her deepest thoughts to him, but now she simply had to see him, if only to make sure that the expression on his face was as accepting as the rest of his body, that was soothing her even now.

She had expected to see the same unreadable expression that he usually wore. Instead, she found him looking at her with something in his eyes that could only be described as guilt.

He still hadn't told her how it could be that his opinion of her had changed so much, why he seemed to share her affectionate feelings now. She couldn't even be sure whether this really was the case. But either way, it was no longer true that she didn't want to see him again. She didn't truly know this man any longer – as far as she had ever actually known Sweeney Todd. But as he was holding her, she knew very well that she indeed could not live without him.