Glenys was shaking her head when Jimmy spoke up. ‘That’s right; my auntie is a schoolteacher,’ he said firmly. ‘Can you show us which is Mrs Hughes’s house, please? I don’t suppose she’s expecting my little sister and me, but – but . . .’

‘But we’s had the measles and our mam died a while back, so Auntie Glenys said we could come with her so long as we promised to behave,’ Mo put in.

The fat woman chuckled richly. ‘You’d best be good if you’re goin’ to live with Mrs Hughes, else she’ll turn you out,’ she said. She came out from behind the counter, crossed the bar and held the door open, then pointed. ‘See the house with the blue curtains and a light showin’ through? That’s Mrs Hughes’s place. Knock good and loud and then wait, because she lives in the back.’ She turned to go back into the pub, but Glenys put a hand on her arm to detain her.

‘Oh, excuse me, but what do we do if Mrs Hughes won’t take us in? She won’t be expecting a couple of children . . .’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that, my dear,’ the fat woman said. ‘If there’s money in it Mrs Hughes will be first in line.’

She turned away and this time Glenys did not attempt to stop her, but picked up her carpetbag, seized Mo’s small hand, waited for a moment whilst Jimmy picked up his own bag and then set off at a fast walk towards the blue curtains.

They reached the house and Jimmy knocked loudly on the door, and then the three of them waited in the drizzling rain. Mo, who had been unusually silent, suddenly piped up. ‘I’m cold and wet and I want to go home to where there’s street lights,’ she said miserably. ‘Why couldn’t we stay in that nice cheerful pub? I liked it in there; it was warm and cosy and it smelled of food, and I’s hungry.’

Glenys was about to remind her of the no children on licensed premises rule when they heard shuffling footsteps approaching the front door, and it was pulled open by a tiny woman who Glenys thought could have been any age between forty and seventy. Glenys opened her mouth to explain, but before she managed to get a word out Mrs Hughes said, ‘A message I had to say you wasn’t comin’, ’cos you’ve got the measles yourself,’ she said crossly. ‘Or are you the replacement for the replacement?’ She gave a little snort which might have been amusement or disapproval. ‘But you’d best come in, else you’ll catch your death and I can’t and won’t nurse sick persons, whether it’s measles or pneumonia.’ She did not wait for a reply, but turned away, opening the door on her right, and gesturing her unexpected guests to enter the small and stuffy parlour thus revealed.

Glad to be indoors, but somewhat nonplussed by their reception, Glenys herded the children into the parlour, then went and shut the front door. In the murky grey of the evening it had been difficult to get even an impression of Mrs Hughes, but the parlour was lamplit, though icy cold, and at last she was able to take stock of the landlady. She was very small, perhaps only a few inches over four foot tall, and though Glenys had thought her fat she now realised that scarves, shawls and cardigans had been piled on haphazardly, one on top of the other, until she was as round as a ball. She gestured Glenys to sit down and took a chair herself, whilst Mo perched on a pouffe and Jimmy leaned against the empty sofa.