‘Jimmy?’ Mo’s small piping voice sounded as though she was on the verge of tears. ‘Oh, Jimmy, what’ll we do when morning comes? Did I really kill Cyril? I didn’t tie the knots real hard; I just meant to give me time to get to you at the wash house. I’s frightened when Cyril’s drunk, ’cos he don’t know his own strength, do he, Jimmy? But will the scuffers believe me, or will they take Aunt Huxtable’s side and hang me from the yard arm?’

Jimmy gave Mo a reassuring squeeze. ‘Don’t you mention tying the laces together, not to anyone but me,’ he ordered. ‘As for what we ought to do, I think we’ll lie low for a bit. No point in going back to number four. Oh, I know there are some people who’ll take our side, but there’s bound to be trouble, and you know what a liar old Huxtable is. If only we had relatives who would take us in . . .’

Mo gave a squeak. ‘If only we could go to our mam’s mam. Do you remember, Jimmy? Mam said they lived in a house with roses round the door.’

Jimmy stared. ‘But that were years ago; you can’t possibly remember Mam sayin’ that,’ he objected. ‘Why, I couldn’t have been more than three or four – you weren’t even born then!’

A cold little hand reached out of the darkness and patted his cheek. ‘No, of course I don’t remember; but you’ve told me over and over that we had relations what lived in the country. Why, only last week you were tellin’ me about how one day you hoped to be a farmer too, and you said I could help with the work, feed the animals and that, when I’s growed.’

‘Well I’m damned. Wharra memory you’ve got, little ’un,’ Jimmy said admiringly. ‘I think you’ve had a really good idea. We could catch a train and go into Wales. We could tell folk we’re lookin’ for our Griffiths relatives; someone would be bound to know ’em. Wales isn’t very big, is it?’

‘I dunno,’ Mo said sleepily. Then her voice sharpened. ‘But we’ve got no money, Jimmy; they wouldn’t let us on the train with no money, and we’d need to buy food and things until we find our fambly.’

Jimmy sighed. Shifting a little to find a comfortable position, he was about to suggest that they should follow his original plan, to cut holly and sell it at the market, when something jabbed into his side, and he remembered not only the biscuits, to which he had not given a thought, but also the money that the tearoom lady had paid for the linen delivery. He plunged his hand into his shirt front and produced the biscuits, handing a couple to Mo and taking one for himself. ‘Broken biscuits from Mr Theaker, and we have got money,’ he said triumphantly. ‘It’s what the tearoom paid for their laundry. I ought to give it to the old girl, but she’s cheated us often enough, so she can whistle for it.’