Mrs McTavish snorted and patted Jimmy’s skinny shoulder. ‘Tell you what, lad – you put your things in to soak and help me wit’ me rinsin’, then I’ll help you wit’ yours an we’ll be done in no time.’ She turned to the younger woman. ‘You wasn’t to know, Annie. I doubt you ever met Grace Trewin, this young feller’s mam. She died a while back in a sannytorium of what we used to call consumption, though there’s a big long name for it these days, and a nicer woman – Welsh, mind you – you’d have to go far to find. Her man went back to sea immediately after the funeral.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And if you ask me, he were took advantage of. They lived at four Solomon Court and Mrs Huxtable told him she’d move in and look after his children as if they were her own, only he’d have to keep paying the rent and hand over summat for their keep as well.’ She turned back to Jimmy. ‘I’ll warrant you’ve guessed that your pa agreed in a hurry and don’t know the half of what goes on,’ she said. ‘He barely knew the woman by all accounts – he were away at sea most of the time, and then when your mam were so ill at the end he never left her side, ain’t that so, young feller? And now you and your sister gets more kicks than ha’p’orths from the Widow Huxtable, what you calls your aunt.’ She looked around, and Jimmy saw for the first time that most of the women were listening and grinning. ‘She ain’t your aunt, is she? Though even if she were she don’t do right by you. Your pa’s payin’ through the nose and would be fit to kill if he could see how you’re treated. You ought to tell ’im, lad, next time his ship’s in port. Will you do that?’

Jimmy, dropping the Irishwoman’s first two sheets into the sink and beginning to pump cold water over them, nodded uneasily. If Aunt Huxtable heard he had been discussing her with these friendly but forthright women he would get the thrashing of his life; if she could catch him, that was. Despite himself, Jimmy gave a tight little grin. If living with the Widow Huxtable – lor’, she’d belt him if she heard him call her that! – had taught him anything it had been how to run like the wind, to hide, to stay clear until her fury had worn off, and never to utter a word in her hearing which she could construe as criticism. So he simply nodded at Mrs McTavish’s words and continued to pump until the rinsing sink was full. Then he began to heave the rinsed sheets out of the water and on to the wide wooden draining board, looking round to see if there was a mangle free.

Around him, the women chattered, scrubbed, and helped each other to wring out sheets and straighten the big towels which rich folk sent down for washing. Jimmy let his mind wander to past Christmases, when his mother had been alive – and to her last moments, when he and Mo had gone to the sanatorium and seen her, so white and thin and only able to smile at them, to hold out a slender, blue-veined hand, before her head had fallen sideways on the pillow and blood had gushed . . . but it was no use wishing. He knew she had loved them, had not wanted to leave them. Now there was just Aunt Huxtable, who crowed over having someone else to pay her rent and a nice little sum towards any expenses she might have. He knew she would lie inventively when his father wanted to know where the money was going . . . but that day had not yet come and in the meantime all he could do was make sure he and Mo spent as little time as possible in No. 4 Solomon Court . . . and learned to dodge and run when Aunt Huxtable’s spiteful temper was at its worst.