She gave Gran a cheery wave, shot out through the kitchen doorway, slammed the door behind her and hurtled down the steps, narrowly avoiding a nasty fall, for each stair was rimmed with ice. Despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon there were few people about. Tess made her way to the post office, bought a stamp, stuck it to her letter and popped it into the yawning mouth of the big red post box, then set off for the corner shop. Opening the door, she found a short queue waiting to be served and to her dismay realised that today must be the day Marilyn earned her pocket money, for the older girl was behind the counter wearing a smart pink overall and taking down an order from the customer at the front of the queue. She did not notice Tess, who when her turn came went straight to Mrs Thomas and asked for margarine and bloater paste. After receiving a small piece of margarine wrapped in greaseproof paper and a little pot of bloater paste, she paid the sum required, took the goods and set off for the door, just as Marilyn muttered something to her mother and grabbed her coat. Struggling into it, she slipped round from behind the counter. To Tess’s dismay, the older girl followed her out of the shop.

Outside, dusk was already falling and when Tess turned to face her she saw that Marilyn was scowling. ‘What were you doing in my mother’s shop?’ she demanded angrily. ‘We don’t want the likes of you in there. No doubt you were looking for a few sweets or some biscuits to nick. Well, my mam knows how to treat people like you.’

‘Our ration books are with your mam so we’ve got no option but to shop there,’ Tess said, and even as she spoke she remembered the advice that both Gran and Albert Payne, the tobacconist, had given her. Clutching the paper bag in which reposed the tiny block of margarine and the jar of bloater paste, she took a deep breath and looked Marilyn in the eye. ‘Why do you hate me?’ she asked baldly, and even as she spoke she saw several members of her class, all hangers-on of Marilyn, congregating near the shop doorway. They were obviously meeting Marilyn out of work, and had she noticed them before Tess would not have acted quite so boldly. It was one thing to confront Marilyn alone and quite another to take on a whole gang, particularly on their own doorstep. But Tess knew that to show how she felt would be fatal, so she continued to stare straight up into Marilyn’s face and repeated her question. ‘Why do you hate me, Marilyn?’

For a moment the older girl stared at Tess with her mouth dropping open, but then she pulled herself together. ‘Hate you? I don’t hate you, I despise you,’ she said scornfully. ‘And I’m not the only one; all me pals think the same. You come bargin’ into our class, showin’ off, pretendin’ to know better than the teacher . . .’