‘I can climb stairs,’ Katie said. ‘If that’s the problem. I’m very strong and I don’t mind at all . . . In fact,’ she added desperately, ‘I’d be willing to help you – I mean, in the house, if you need it.’

She decided to lay everything bare, instead of waiting. After all she might as well be turned away sooner rather than delaying the agony. All her pride had been shaken out of her by now.

‘I’m really desperate for a place to go, you see. It’s me and my little boy. I’m a widow – we’re on our own: he’s only two – and my present landlady, her husband’s being demobbed and they don’t want a lodger, and no one will have us. I’m afraid if it goes on like this, I’m going to be on the streets . . .’ The emotion she had been keeping down all evening began to pour out and she burst into tears. ‘Oh, I’m sorry – I never meant to carry on like this, only I’ve been looking for days and everyone’s been so nasty . . .’

The woman leaned against the doorframe. ‘Oh, dearie me,’ she said, almost huffily. ‘I do wish you hadn’t told me all this.’ There was a silence as Katie composed herself.

‘You’ve really nowhere else to go? What about your family – can’t they help?’

Katie shook her head, wiping her eyes. ‘Not a hope.’

‘What’s your name? And the boy?’

‘Katie – O’Neill.’ And my little boy’s Michael. He’s no trouble, honestly. He’s a quiet little chap, and I wouldn’t cause you any noise or bother.’

There was a silence. The woman folded her arms and let out a long, considering sigh.

‘It’s against my better judgement,’ she said. ‘I prefer male lodgers really – they’re handier, and not so hard on the plumbing. But you do seem to be in a jam, and one must try and be Christian about these things. Come round tomorrow and bring your boy. If you like the room, and I like you, we might be able to come to some arrangement.’

‘Oh – d’you mean it!’ Katie felt like throwing her arms around the woman. ‘Really? Oh, thank you, thank you!’

‘I haven’t said yes yet,’ she said crustily. ‘Come round tomorrow – it’s number twenty-six. Don’t come so late. Six o’clock would suit. Then we’ll see.’ She had almost shut the door when it opened again. ‘My name is Miss Routh, by the way. Sybil Routh.’

‘How d’you do,’ Katie said.

Sybil Routh stared a moment longer, shook her head as if baffled by her own foolishness, then shut the door.

Thirty-One

Within days of Katie giving birth in the Millers’ crowded household, something lucky had happened. Ann came in from work one afternoon while Katie was feeding Michael, wincing at the child’s strong pull on her.

‘Ooh,’ Ann looked sympathetic. ‘Does it hurt yer?’

‘A bit – he doesn’t half suck.’ Katie smiled. ‘Never mind.’