‘Come in, you can ask her yourself,’ Jenny replied and opened the door wider. ‘So what’s he called?’

Sarah looked at her brother and it occurred to her he didn’t have a name. ‘Er … Tommy. His name’s Tommy Jepson.’

‘Ah, that’s lovely,’ Jenny said as they walked into the kitchen. ‘Mum, Mrs Jepson’s had her baby, a little boy called Tommy.’

Jenny’s mum’s expression was stern, and four small faces peered at Sarah from around the kitchen table. The flat had the luxury of four rooms, but as Jenny had five siblings it still felt cramped and overcrowded, yet warm and cosy. If Jenny’s dad was home, Sarah wouldn’t have been invited in, but now, as she stood in the kitchen, she wished her flat was like her friend’s. It always smelled of freshly baked bread, unlike the damp smell that greeted Sarah in her flat.

Sarah’s eyes quickly scanned the room, and she spied the tin bath under the kitchen workbench. She’d have loved to soak herself in hot water, but instead had to make do with a shivering strip wash at her small kitchen sink. Jenny was so lucky to have a dad, she thought, as her stomach grumbled at the sight of bowls of stew in front of the little faces sitting at the table.

‘Stop standing there gawping, girl. I suppose your mother’s sent you down here on the cadge for something?’ Mrs Turner said. She was a plump woman, and short like her daughter, but Sarah knew she ruled over her household and kept her brood in order.

‘Er … sorry, but Mum’s a bit poorly, and the baby needs feeding …’ Sarah nervously answered.

‘Poorly my arse! More like passed out drunk,’ Mrs Turner snapped.

Sarah felt ashamed and lowered her head. Everyone on the estate knew her mother had a drinking problem, and they also knew she’d sell herself for a jug of beer or a bottle of gin.

‘I’m sorry, love, it ain’t your fault,’ Mrs Turner said, her tone softening. ‘I can’t see the poor mite go hungry, but you tell your mother this is the last time I’ll help her out.’

Sarah had found it hard to bring herself to ask for food, without the added degrading comments about her mother, but felt a surge of relief.

‘I don’t suppose your mum’s got anything in for the baby, has she?’

‘Erm … er … no, Mrs Turner, she hasn’t,’ Sarah answered, and could feel her cheeks burning red with discomfiture.

‘The woman’s a disgrace. I don’t know what she’d do without you. Jenny, get a bowl of stew for Sarah. I doubt you’ve had your tea, have you?’

‘I … er—’ Sarah said but was quickly interrupted.