‘Er, hello, I’m Mrs Nolan, Mr Keeble was calling down for me,’ Peggy said with a tremor in her voice to the rather prim-looking lady seated behind the tall oak counter, with a typewriter in front of her and a pile of brown envelopes on one side. Peggy recognised the envelopes; one was nesting comfortably in her cardigan pocket. ‘I’m looking for Mr Heartfelt, please.’ She had been through this process, met this woman before, but always with Maura doing the talking. Then, Peggy had felt no fear. Today was very different. She swallowed down the acid that was burning the back of her throat, thanks to adrenaline and a lack of food. She felt a shiver run through her aching bones and placed a hand on her belly, used its heat to still the now-persistent ache in her abdomen, which seemed to travel all the way around from her back in a belt of dull pain.

The lady behind the desk appeared not to have heard her the first time, so Peggy tried again. ‘Hello,’ she said, a little louder this time, ‘I’m looking for Mr Heartfelt.’

The woman ceased typing and peered at Peggy over her spectacles. ‘Are you now? I’d never have guessed.’

The sarcasm was lost on Peggy, but she realised that the woman knew very well why she was there. The rent man, Mr Keeble, must have kept his word and telephoned ahead and so at least she was expected, that was something, she thought. It took every ounce of strength to stop herself from visibly shaking, her tears from falling, weak with gratitude for a kind gesture from someone who was almost a stranger and didn’t even live on the four streets.

The woman pushed her wooden swivel chair back, stood, and then opened a large black ledger on the desk. ‘What is your name please and the purpose of your visit?’

Peggy knew the woman knew why she was there, so why was she asking, unless it was to shame her? She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Mr Keeble sent me, I’ve to see Mr Heartfelt, didn’t he tell you? About the arrears.’ She almost whispered the last three words but when the door behind her opened and in walked Frank the Skank, it was clear he had heard her.

Peggy’s heart stopped, the jugular vein in her neck throbbed. Two young women walked in behind him, so smartly dressed they must have come down from the shipping offices. They were very definitely not from the Dock Road. Peggy moved closer to the dark oak counter, her fingers clutching the edge for balance, and lowered her voice even further.

‘He wrote to me, I have the letter, here.’ She retrieved the envelope from her pocket and pushed it across the counter. ‘I’ve come to see him about the rent.’