‘What’s up with you?’ Violet said peering at her. ‘What the hell’s wrong with Mom getting a little job?’

‘I . . . nothing,’ Em said, swallowing down her emotion. Of course she was being silly. But why did she feel so betrayed? And as if her father was being betrayed, too. Things were just changing too fast.

‘I can’t just sit here grieving,’ Cynthia said. ‘It’s no good – I need to get out and do something . . .’

There was a bang of the front door and in came Joyce, wrapped up to the pink tip of her nose in a big brown scarf. She looked full of life, her honey-coloured hair tied up, and the picture of health.

‘What’s going on?’ She pulled at the scarf.

‘Em doesn’t want Mom to go out to work,’ Violet said.

Joyce turned from going to hang her coat up, a frown on her face. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Well . . .’ Em was shrinking inside. ‘Nothing, I s’pose, it was just—’

‘No, that’s it – nothing.’ Joyce went over to pour herself tea. ‘Why shouldn’t our mom go and get herself a little job, if it makes her feel better? It’s not up to you to keep coming round here, bossing us all around, you know. You live somewhere else now – and even if you didn’t, you’re not in charge here, you know!’

‘Oi, that’s enough,’ Cynthia said.

Em was stung to the core by these words. She and Joyce always squabbled more than she did with Violet, but this time the words hit home. She had felt as if she was in charge of them all, especially now, with Dad gone. Just like when she was little, the way she had had to take over, as if none of them could manage themselves. The habit had formed in her without her realizing.

‘It’s all right,’ Cynthia said gently, seeing that she was upset. She touched Em’s arm for a second. ‘Don’t you worry – everything’ll be all right.’

Em gave a grudging smile. She felt silly, weepy, but more reassured now. ‘Yeah, I s’pect it will.’

They changed the subject, talking about their days. Violet’s had been boring, she said. Joyce was happier with factory work – she liked the company, the banter. And Larry was never too far away.

‘Eh,’ Cynthia said to Em, ‘didn’t you say you was meeting up with that O’Neill girl? Dot said she’d seen you both.’

‘Sunday, she said. That was something I wanted to ask you, Mom. She’s coming over from Handsworth way, with her little boy. Could we come here? It’d just be better than Edna’s.’

‘Course you can,’ Cynthia said. ‘It’ll be company for Robbie . . .’