‘It is no trouble to me,’ she was saying, when there was a loud knocking on the outer door to the street.

The three women looked at each other. Ellen wasn’t expecting anyone. The Boscos wouldn’t have knocked so hard, but she saw the anxious glance that passed between Edyta and Mrs Johnson and guessed that it was someone for them.

‘I’ll go,’ Ellen said. ‘It might be my brother,’ though she knew that it wouldn’t be, not at this time and on a weekday. Closing her door behind her she crossed the small hall and opened the front door.

The man standing there was Edyta’s brother Ezra. He lifted his hat. ‘I beg your pardon. I have called to visit my mother, Mrs Johnson. She lives upstairs.’ He pointed with his finger as if to prove his cognisance.

‘I know,’ Ellen said. ‘But she is in my house right now.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Won’t you come in?’

He looked startled and she heard a small hiss of in-taken breath, but he followed her through her door and she closed it behind him.

‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, Mr Johnson?’ she asked. ‘Kettle’s still hot.’

He glanced at her and then back to his mother, sitting so comfortably by the fire with a cup of coffee in her hand, and then at his sister, who had risen as he had entered the room and was gazing defiantly back at him.

‘No; thank you,’ he said. ‘I think perhaps my sister and I need to have a conversation upstairs.’

‘Mrs Randell doesn’t speak or understand our language, Ezra,’ Edyta answered him in English. ‘We can speak here; it is much warmer than upstairs.’

He replied in a harsh guttural voice that was easy enough for Ellen to understand even though she didn’t know the foreign words. He was not going to have an argument in front of a stranger, warm fire or not.

Edyta shrugged and turned to go out of the room, then stopped. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Mrs Randell.’ She was about to say something else when Sarah sat up in bed and said huskily, ‘Mama!’

Ellen smiled at her. ‘What a lovely sleep you’ve had.’

Sarah slid off the bed and went towards the fire, standing by Mrs Johnson’s chair. ‘That’s a big fire,’ she said, holding out her hands to warm them.

‘Hello, Sarah,’ Mrs Johnson murmured. ‘Would you like to sit on my knee to be nearer the fire?’

‘Yes, please,’ Sarah answered croakily. ‘It’s warmer here than in your room, isn’t it?’ She climbed up on to the elderly lady’s knee while Ezra looked on in amazement. ‘In our other house at home we had a big fire to warm us and to cook our dinner.’