‘What happened to Lisa’s mother?’ I asked.

‘She died. Never came out of hospital after that time we had Sid. Puerperal infection. One of the worst I’ve seen. Sadly we lost the baby too. Lisa’s relied on neighbours all her life really, and they’ve been marvellous to her. And that uncle of hers – the old fellow. He’s a man of few words but he’s kept up the rent for her until she could manage it herself.’

‘Was that his wife – in the coffin?’

‘No, his sister. She’s been living with them for the past year or so. She had a bad chest. Lisa looked after her – she’s got a kind heart. She’d look after anyone, I think.’

We stood in silence for a few seconds.

‘Well, I’d better pop into Mrs Callaghan,’ I said.

Daddy started feeling in his jacket pockets as he did sometimes when he had something on his mind. ‘You did very well today, Katie,’ he told me awkwardly. ‘I was proud of you. You’ll be a very good addition to the team in this area.’ He paused. ‘You’re looking very peaky. You won’t overdo it will you?’

It was only later, when I was alone in my bedroom and found tears running down my cheeks, that I realized fully how much his words had meant to me.

Chapter 15

Daisy Turnbull was asleep, tucked in a deep drawer, taking quick, snuffly breaths.

‘She’s beautiful,’ I told Lisa. She was sitting, dressed, but still wearing a pair of ancient slippers, a cigarette in one hand. The coffin was gone and the table now occupied the centre of the room. ‘Feeding all right, is she?’

‘Oh yes – loves ’er food. Can’t get enough of me. Bit of a nuisance at times, of course, but it keeps ’em quiet, don’t it?’

‘You are sticking to the four-hourly feeds though? You know that’s considered best for the child?’

Lisa cocked her head to one side so that her hair tumbled over one shoulder of her milk-stained blouse. ‘You aren’t married, are you? No kids?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘That’s the trouble with you people, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’re full of instructions about what to do when you ain’t had a go at it yourself. All this about doing it by the clock – for a start I ain’t got a clock. It’s broke. And even if I ’ad, if my babby starts screaming, it’s not a clock I need to tell me to see to ’er, is it?’

‘But we’re trying to introduce the baby to regular habits – see her in good stead for the future . . .’

Lisa made a dismissive sound. ‘She’ll grow out of this. Then she’ll be eating what there is, regular with the rest of us. Won’t be any choice about that. The way I look at it, Miss Munro, this is ’er one chance in life to get as much grub into ’er as ’er wants. Won’t be like that for long, will it?’