‘All right, Cindy, you win,’ the joker shouted back, to the odd jeer of, ‘You should never mess with Cindy,’ from the crowd.

Cindy blew them a kiss and she and Maggie pushed through the crowd and found the table that was always waiting for Cindy. None of the men in the pub sat down and only a certain type of woman stood or sat near the bar; respectable women sat at a table. The table was nothing more than an upturned barrel with polished planks balanced on top. Maggie looked around nervously.

‘Oh, look, there’s the Morry’s crew in over by the fire. He’s a good bloke, Captain Conor, Ena never stops talking about him,’ said Cindy. ‘How lucky are people around here that one of their own is the captain of a tramp ship and gets the dockers all the knock-off gear? I swear to God, if it wasn’t for him, half of the kids on this street would go hungry. Ena says the owner knows that he only gets three-quarters of a ship, that the rest is for the streets, and he doesn’t mind. He tells Conor to just make sure there’s no trouble and that he gets the right price for his load.’

‘He’s come just in time,’ said Maggie, ‘because, by all accounts, only the fittest have had a full week in work since January. It’s going to be the most miserable carnival in living memory on the four streets this year.’

Cindy crossed her legs and Maggie admired her ladder-free sheer stockings. Cindy’s boots were made of red leather, with grey fur dotted with black leopard spots folded over the top. Maggie’s heart ached. She would love just to try them on and then thought to herself for the very first time, look what you have been missing out on for so long. The warmth of the laughter in the room worked its magic as well as the heat from the huge fire. Maggie let her shoulders relax and gave a deep sigh. Cindy leant forward and placed her elbows on the table. ‘So, when was the last time you actually went out, then? And, I don’t mean to the bingo.’

Maggie didn’t need to think. ‘I’ve not been out anywhere since the war,’ she said. ‘Well, except to the odd christening or wedding, and there was a party in the street, remember, the night before the Dohertys left for Ireland? But since then and you know, the war, well…’