Katie was dreading Christmas. It had been bad enough before, but since Uncle Patrick had died, everything seemed far bleaker. At least when he was alive she knew they would always go to Midnight Mass, and sometimes her mother even came too. And Patrick had got them playing games – cards and dominoes and guessing games. He had been used to jollying children along and had ideas up his sleeve. But each year since seemed to have become more difficult, and a few days ago Katie had had an idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

‘Mother, shall we ask Enid over to share Christmas dinner with us this year? Otherwise she’ll be all on her own, won’t she?’

‘Yes, all right,’ Vera agreed. ‘And knowing Enid, she’ll bring some of her rations over too.’

On Christmas Eve Katie said, ‘I think I’d like to go to Mass this year. Will you come with me?’

‘You do know I’m not a Catholic, don’t you?’ Vera replied harshly.

‘But you . . .’

‘Yes – I was one all right. A lot of good it did me too!’

But she did go, in the end. They stood side by side, warmed on this cold night by the congregation packed in side by side. Katie listened to the Latin words and watched the priest and altar boys at the front, remembering how Uncle Patrick had always stood beside her like a thin shadow, his head humbly bowed and hands clasped. Tears slid down her cheeks and she quietly wiped them away. That night, more than any other she could remember, she felt her lack of family. All the questions that she knew never to ask began to surface in her mind. Where are my grandparents? And what about aunts and uncles and cousins? Why are we so alone in the world? She had asked questions when she was a little girl, and had been palmed off with answers that she had had to make do with. Her Irish grandparents were dead, she was told, and her other grandparents had moved far away. Even her one set of English cousins was abroad.

Her mother seemed stonily calm, yet forbidding, and as they walked home in the darkness, Katie knew that this was not the time to raise the subject.

Thanks to Enid, they got through Christmas quite enjoyably. Enid had made a little cake with dried egg and a few bits of fruit she’d saved up, and she brought a few of her rations to share – tea and butter. They had a very small beef joint and, later in the afternoon, they went out for a nice airing round Sparkhill.

‘Thanks ever so much for inviting me, Vee,’ Enid said as they put the kettle on, on their return home. ‘It would’ve been a long, slow day on my own.’

‘Oh, it’s good to have you,’ Vera said, setting out cups. ‘Isn’t it, Katie?’

But on New Year’s Eve they were on their own, and it felt as if the evening would never end. Vera was going down with a cold and was feeling tired and sorry for herself. Katie thought about Ann, out dancing with Gordon, and her resentment built up. Was she going to be shut in here with her mother’s moods for the rest of her life, while everyone else her age had a jolly time and met men and got married?