She passed a pub on one corner. The door opened to let someone out and for a second she made out a handwritten sign on the door: ‘NO BEER’ in large letters. But it made her think of cosy evenings she had spent with Simon in the corner of various pubs while he talked to her – yes, she could see, he had done most of the talking; had not, truth to tell, shown much real interest in her. At the time she had overlooked this and not expected anything else. Those evenings out they had had – to the pictures, or the occasional dance – and those stolen afternoons in Kings Heath, how precious they had seemed and how bitterly she remembered them now. It was remembering the good times, as they had seemed then, that hurt the most and made her long for things to be different. She had thought she was in love, that this was how it was. You met someone, fell in love and they loved you back, the way her mother had. But it had all been a lie. The hurt of his rejection bit deeply into her. She kept seeing Simon’s cold, contemptuous face as he handed her the money, as he would to a tart. That soon put a stop to any tender feelings she still had, of missing him. She was the one left raw and aching, and frightened and carrying his child. She boiled with the injustice of it. Any time she was alone for a few minutes she found herself ranting at him, pouring out all her hurt in bitter insults and accusations.

‘All I was to you was a bit of fun,’ she whispered furiously in that dark street. ‘A chance for you to get what you wanted and then throw me aside like rubbish! I was just a plaything – I might as well have been a common whore. You never felt anything for me, not like you said. You lied and lied . . . And now my life is ruined, and you’ll just go on, having everything on a plate the way you always have . . .’ Her hurt and rage rose up and choked her, so that she was weeping, struggling to be quiet about it. She had to stop and recover as the tears blinded her even further. She longed to hurt him back. But she knew it was no good – he didn’t care, and nothing she could say would make him care.

All day, during the back-aching hours of typing, she had been a bag of nerves thinking about her mother. Surely Enid was right – Vera would come round. If she went to her and talked calmly, told her mother how sorry she was . . . Vera had had all day to calm down – surely she couldn’t have meant what she said, so cruel and so final?

Reaching the house, Katie saw that the blackout curtains were drawn closed. She was about to walk in as she would normally have done, but she paused on the step, realizing she had better knock. Somewhere nearby a neighbour’s cat was yowling to be let in. Taking several deep, frightened breaths, she raised her hand and knocked.