Mary blinked and smiled up at Malcolm, who was defeated. It wasn’t Mary, Malcolm objected to. He had known her since she was born, the first to lie in the second-hand pram Eugene had bought down on Scottie Road. Eight more had followed Mary and Malcolm had watched her push the others up and down the street in the pram since she was old enough to reach the handlebars. She was wearing a coat at least three sizes too big for her and her chestnut hair, usually worn in a ponytail, had been tied in rags the previous evening in anticipation of her new job, long and thick, it now bobbed on her shoulders in tight ringlets. Her bright blue eyes were flecked with hazel streaks and appeared large in her thin face. She was not a pretty girl, but there was something about her that caught the eye. A calmness, a depth beyond her years. As she smiled up at him, Malcolm knew Biddy had won.

‘There you are then, now move yourself.’ Biddy squeezed past Malcolm into the hallway.

‘It’s a surprise to see both yourself and Babs out on the step this morning,’ said Eric, who didn’t often see Malcolm.

‘I can’t speak for Babs,’ said Malcolm, ‘but I’m here to stop whoever the bugger is keeps pinching my milk.’ He glanced furtively from side to side, up and down the Dock Road. ‘Three mornings this week I’ve been missing a pint of gold top. Doesn’t take the steri, only the best for my little thief.’

Biddy’s voice called down the hallway, ‘Come on, Malcolm, the kettle is on. I have to be at work soon and we need to make a list for Mary.’

Malcolm rolled his eyes. ‘I knew today was going to be a bad day,’ he said.

‘My advice is,’ said Eric, ‘just do as you’re told. It’s far easier in the long run.’

Malcolm turned to make his way down the hallway, saying, ‘She means well.’ And both men knew that if it wasn’t for Biddy, lonely Malcolm would have disappeared inside himself long ago.

*

Eric felt a sense of anticipation as they headed towards the corner of Nelson Street and the mare increased her pace; she knew what was coming next. In Nelson Street lived a customer who always had a special treat waiting for Daisy Bell. He could still hear his Gladys’s words ringing in his ears as he had left the yard: ‘Don’t you dare be giving anyone credit in the four streets, do you hear me? Especially not Peggy Nolan on Nelson Street. We sell the milk, we don’t give it away.’