So far, all she had met was suspicion and hard-faced rejection. It was all very well when they opened their doors and saw her, smart in a sage-green shirt-waister with its matching belt, and her white cardigan and neat navy shoes. She wore her hair swept back stylishly so that she looked every inch a reliable working girl, the sort who would have money to meet the rent and no trouble.

‘I’m enquiring about the room,’ she’d say. ‘It says you have one to let?’

The landladies could afford to be fussy: there were far more people in need of a room than the accommodation to meet it. A quiet, single woman – that’s what they all wanted. Or, second best, a quiet, single man. So far so good. Seeing Katie’s respectable look, some of their faces broke into cautious smiles. But sooner or later in the conversation she had to tell them the full truth. That wiped the smiles off them. The last one had been the worst, the one who’d really got under her skin.

‘I have regular work,’ she’d begun. ‘With solicitors Rowan and Johnson on Bennett’s Hill . . .’ This always impressed them. This last lady had been in her apron, middle-aged with tight brown curls, genteel but hard-faced in a thin, tight-lipped way. The sort who could damn you with a look or a whisper. She stood twisting her wedding ring round and round her bony finger, as if to emphasize how respectably married she was.

‘A solicitor – oh well, you sound just the sort of person I’m looking for,’ she said in an affected way, even managing something almost like a smile. ‘Tell me – where are you living now?’

‘Not far away,’ Katie explained. ‘In Holly Road.’ It was another street nearby in Handsworth. ‘I’m lodging with a lady there, but her husband will be coming home soon and I need to give them their privacy and find somewhere else.’

The lady looked her up and down again, sniffed, then said, ‘I’m very strict about use of hot water. But you look a sensible sort of girl. If you’re serious, you’d better come and see the room.’

‘The thing is,’ Katie felt her legs turn weak again, having to say this, ‘I’m not completely on my own.’ There, the words had to come out. ‘I’ve my little boy: he’s nearly two and a half, and he’s no trouble . . .’ She babbled fast, trying to make a good impression, but all the while aware of the expression of disdain taking over the landlady’s face. ‘He’s a quiet little lad, ever so good, and he’ll be looked after during the day while I’m at work . . .’

But the woman was retreating furiously back into her doorway.

‘Oh no, I don’t think so. I don’t want any children, all noise and mess. No, you’ll have to find somewhere else. Coming here, disturbing people at this time of the evening! I mean, how do I even know you’ve got a husband? You never can tell these days. Off you go now – away from my door!’