The front door was wide open. Sarah ran in then pushed it closed behind her. The room was dark, but she could see her mother lying on her filthy mattress on the floor, panting hard. As Sarah got closer, she noticed beads of sweat running down her mum’s face even though the room was cold.

‘Get this bloody thing out of me!’ her mother screamed, and gripped the holey blanket that was covering her legs.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Sarah cried in a blind panic. Though she’d seen her mum give birth before, she’d only been ten years old at the time, and had been overwhelmed with horror through most of it. Now thirteen, she was still unsure.

She knew it would be useless to appeal to any of the neighbours for help. Mrs Brown had passed away and none of the other women in the block would have anything to do with her mum.

‘Shall I get the doctor?’ she said desperately.

‘Don’t be so stupid. I don’t need a doctor, I just need some gin. Pass me that bottle,’ her mother demanded, indicating to a bottle of alcohol in the tiny kitchenette.

‘But … but that ain’t no good for the baby,’ Sarah pleaded, though she was loath to disobey her mother’s orders.

‘Don’t you backchat me, just get it. I need it for the pain,’ her mother ground out through gritted teeth.

Sarah reluctantly handed her the almost empty bottle, which she quickly drained.

‘It’s no good, I need more,’ she cried, groaning again and writhing on the mattress.

‘But we ain’t got no more,’ Sarah answered, recoiling at seeing her mum in such discomfort.

‘You’ll have to get yourself down the offie and get me a bottle on tick,’ her mother said, then closed her eyes and moaned loudly again.

It was obvious to Sarah that another painful contraction was washing over her mother. She waited for it to pass before saying, ‘They ain’t open yet, it’s too early,’ grateful that she wouldn’t have to go out begging again. She found it humiliating, and would much rather scavenge for food to eat or clothes to wear.

‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake, gal, use your bleedin’ head for once, will ya! I can’t bloody think straight. Go and have a word with Eddy in the next block, and tell him I’ll see him straight next week. I don’t care where you get it from, just get me some bloody gin!’