Peggy felt as though she had been winded. ‘But why? They’re made of good leather?’ She was in shock; she had guessed at three pounds at the very least. She was depending upon that amount to call off the dogs. To persuade Mr Heartfelt that she could return with more and to let them stay in their home because they had nowhere else to go.

‘Leather is leather,’ the pawnbroker said. ‘No one from around here has ever brought me good leather. They don’t even know what it looks like.’ He laughed out loud and then, with little compassion for the bereft woman standing before him, asked, ‘Am I taking them, or not?’

Peggy looked over her shoulder and out of the window. Normal people living normal lives were bustling past. Workmen on their way home to a tea on the table. Old, invisible women, returning from mass, children answering the call to return home for tea; and she thought of her own children, huddled on the stairs and hungry. And very soon there wouldn’t even be the stairs to sit on.

‘Take them,’ she said as she placed her mother’s clock on the counter and the man peeled away the layers of newsprint.

‘Ah, now you’re talking,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a fiver for that – it’s an original.’

A thrill ran through her. She could deliver chips to the kids after all, and saveloys too – and surely this would be enough for Mr Heartfelt. Frank the Skank and the threat he and his wife posed had faded. She would rather keep her home with them as neighbours than have no home at all. It had come to that.

‘I’ll take it,’ she said, and as she pushed the clock across the glass-topped counter, she heard her mother’s voice, ‘That clock’s been my pride and joy; it was your grandmother’s, so don’t you ever let it go, do you hear me?’

Peggy’s breath caught in the back of her throat. If she died before she got the clock back, and if she had the last rites and went to heaven and her mam was there, what would she say? Was her shame on earth not enough? Must she take it with her? The pawnbroker placed the money in a brown envelope with the items listed on the front and ripped a corresponding page out of his book. Peggy took it and slipped it into her coat pocket.

‘Aren’t you going to check how much is in there, that I haven’t short-changed you?’ he asked but Peggy didn’t answer him; she could do no more. Turning, she headed for the door and, lifting the brake on the pram, set off towards the four streets and the chip shop.

*