Holly chewed on her lip. Matron was such a jolly, happy person usually but right at that minute it was clear she was filled with rage and Holly didn’t blame her.

It was a bright sunny morning in June when Ivy had her next afternoon off and, after putting baby Alice into her pram, she set off for her parents’ home, stopping on the way to buy some groceries for them. She had been upset for days after reading of the death of Emily Davison, a suffragette she had known in London, who had stepped in front of the king’s horse at the Derby races ten days before. Alice was her whole life now but sometimes she missed the suffragette women in London and she still wholeheartedly supported their cause. Still, hopefully today the visit to her family would be a happy distraction.

At the entrance to the courtyard that had once been her home, Ivy paused and frowned as the old familiar smells met her, but then she took a deep breath and pushed the pram down the narrow alley.

The door to her parents’ cottage was open and inside Ivy could see her mother huddled in a shawl on the old horsehair sofa that had been there for as long as she could remember. She lifted Alice in one arm, the groceries in the other and stepped into the gloomy interior. Her mother had clearly been dozing but she woke with a start and peered towards the door.

‘Who’s there?’ Then as Ivy stepped into the room she scowled. ‘Oh, so yer’ve decided to come back an’ show yer face then, ’ave yer? About time an’ all. You ain’t sent us so much as ha’penny piece fer months. Some daughter you are.’ She stopped abruptly then as she saw the baby in Alice’s arms and growled, ‘An’ whose sprog is that?’

‘She’s mine.’ Ivy stuck her chin in the air. ‘I thought yer might like to meet yer granddaughter. Her name is Alice.’

‘Gran’daughter! Yer never told me you’d got wed,’ her mother barked accusingly and when Ivy lowered her head she laughed scornfully. ‘You ain’t got wed, ’ave yer? She’s a fly-blow, ain’t she? Huh, yer silly little cow. Didn’t I tell yer to keep yer legs shut till yer’d got a ring on yer finger!’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Ivy said as tears pricked at the back of her eyes. ‘He said he loved me. We were goin’ to get wed …’

‘Ar, they all say that till they’ve had their leg over.’

Suddenly Ivy knew that it had been a mistake to come. Her mother had never had time for her so why had she thought that things might be any different now?

Dropping the bag of groceries onto the table she glanced around the room. It was exactly as she remembered it: dirty and unkempt. ‘There’s some food there for you,’ she said, her voice calm now. ‘But it will be the last you’ll sponge from me. Goodbye, Mam, you’ll not see me again.’ And with that she walked from the cottage, laid Alice in her pram and walked away without once looking back.