Out in the passage, the sound of the works below was louder. Miss Poulter led her to the end, by the window, then turned to face Katie with a distasteful expression on her face. In her clipped, well-spoken voice she said, ‘Miss, er, Mrs O’ Neill, I shall be blunt. Am I to understand that you are with child?’

Katie felt her heart race. She looked down, saw a cigarette stub crushed on the floor. ‘Yes, Miss Poulter.’

‘The other girls are talking, of course. You did not mention this when first we employed you?’

‘I didn’t know myself then,’ Katie lied. These days she knew she would do or say anything she had to. She had discovered something primitive in herself – for the baby, she would fight, even kill if necessary, she thought. A pink flush had gathered in Miss Poulter’s cheeks, and her eyes were blinking nervously behind her spectacles.

‘I’m afraid we shall have to let you go, as from today.’

Katie stared at her. She felt her legs go weak. ‘Pardon? I’m sorry – what d’you mean?’

‘Well, clearly I shall have to find someone else to fill your position, and really I feel you should go as soon as possible. We can’t have you round here in that condition. The men don’t like it, you know.’

Katie’s heart was thudding so hard with shock that she had to put her hand out to lean against the wall. She couldn’t lose her job, not yet! She was worried to death about how things would be once the baby was born. Even though she still had most of Simon’s money stored away in the bank, she was terrified of not being able to work. She had to keep earning for as long as possible.

‘The men?’ she repeated faintly. ‘What men?’ Where she worked there were only Miss Poulter and the other girls in the typing pool.

‘The men in the works, of course – it’s not right to have the girls in the works flaunting their . . .’ She circled her hand in the direction of Katie’s stomach.

‘Flaunting?’ Katie held on tight to her temper. The men don’t like it! ‘Miss Poulter, I don’t think it’s fair to say I’m flaunting anything. Where we work there are no men, and I never have cause to go down into the works. Please, don’t lose me my job now. My husband is abroad, I think he’s in Italy, but I haven’t heard from him for such a long time . . .’ She managed to produce some tears, without difficulty as she was so worried. At nights she lay awake, feeling the child moving, and was swamped by fear. ‘I don’t have any family and I need this job. Things are different now with the war on, aren’t they? We all need to pull together in any way we can. Just let me carry on a little longer – at least another month, please. I’ll keep out of everyone’s way, like I usually do. Only don’t make me go now! You’ll be putting me in a terribly difficult position!’