The back gate clicked and Shelagh’s footsteps and those of the other women close behind her sounded on the cobbles in the yard. Shelagh would have knocked on to Deirdre, Deirdre to her neighbour and so on down the line it went. Even those who didn’t or couldn’t answer the call would knock onto the next kitchen to let them know the white smoke was rising, so everyone to Kathleen’s house.

‘Line up the cups, Alice,’ said Kathleen. ‘Brandy in first.’ She took a large gulp herself, straight from the bottle, just as the back door opened.

‘By God, it must be bad news,’ said Shelagh, her eyes opening wide, ‘the cut of you. You have the brandy out already?’

‘You’ve no idea how bad it is,’ said Kathleen. ‘Frank the Skank and his wife are moving into Maura and Tommy’s house!’ And as she began to measure the brandy into the cups, Maggie Trott came into the kitchen.

‘Oh, that is bad news for all of us,’ exclaimed Maggie and they all turned to look at her.

‘Do you know them?’ asked Alice.

‘Oh, I do,’ said Maggie, ‘and Frank the Skank is a nasty piece of work.’

Peggy staggered and Alice caught her before she fell, then Maggie eased her into a kitchen chair.

‘That’s it for me,’ wailed Peggy. ‘My life is over and done, it can’t get any worse than this.’

Kathleen placed a cup in her hand. ‘Here, drink this, queen, get it down you.’ Peggy knocked back the brandy in one and pushed herself up from the chair.

‘Peggy, where are you going?’ asked Maggie Trott as she walked towards the door. Peggy turned around and looked at the women now assembled in the kitchen, some with babies in arms, some carrying a plate with biscuits they had made that morning. Peggy looked at their faces, their hands, work-worn, like her own. But each one of them had a husband in work and their rent was paid – they were safe. No one missed the rent, for the street would provide food if a family ran out. On cold nights, shovels of coal would be donated to a family that had none, but the rent, that was a different matter altogether, everyone paid the rent.

‘Peggy, are you all right, love?’ asked Maggie Trott. ‘You’ve taken your curlers out.’