‘Well, really, we should try and find the owner or take it to the police station, but given that it was in the mud down here, I doubt we’d ever know who lost it. So, yes, I suppose it is ours, but we can’t keep it ’cos I’ll have to sell it or we’ll be going hungry.’

‘But I saw it first, so it’s mine, and I don’t want to sell it,’ Tommy complained.

‘What good is a gold bracelet to you? Would you rather you kept this and we starved to death? Stop being so selfish, it isn’t like you.’

Tommy hung his head. Sarah could see he was about to start crying, and she hated to see him upset. ‘Come here, give me a cuddle. You’re a clever boy, spotting that in the mud like you did. Well done,’ she said, and wrapped her arms around him.

‘Geroff me – you smell,’ Tommy said and chuckled.

Sarah realised she did. In fact, they both needed a wash and so did the bracelet. With no money for a tram, she knew it would be a bit of a trek, but decided on heading to Clapham Junction. They could use the public toilets, then make their way to the market at Northcote Road.

Once there she hoped to sell the gold and finally fill their empty bellies.

The streets and shops at Clapham Junction were bustling with people, and as they passed Sarah she felt a little fearful, wondering if the bracelet in her pocket belonged to any of them. She had no way of knowing, but she knew she had to risk trying to sell it.

To her relief, Tommy had been quiet for most of the journey, but she could see the child was tired, and knew he was hungry. When she looked down at him and he greeted her back with a warm smile and twinkling blue eyes, the guilt she felt was like a stab to her heart. He was such a sweet child and she wished she could do more for him.

As they passed Hastings’ furniture store, Sarah caught a glimpse of her reflection in the shop window. Her shoes were caked in mud, and her thin blouse and holey cardigan were grubby from lying on the shed floor. Her skirt was wrinkled, and her hair was tangled. With Tommy in his oversized flat cap and blanket wrapped around him, she realised they must look like a couple of vagrants. She crossed the road to a central reservation which was locally known as Bog Island. There were toilets in Arding and Hobbs’ department store, but, looking as they did, she thought it best to avoid them.

‘Sarah, I’m a big boy now. Can I use the men’s toilet by myself?’