I was resigned to being late home on the last day I would want to be late, and had to remind myself, for the second time that day, how lucky I was to be working.

On the day I started, the girls had looked at me aghast, and no-one was shy about saying why.

How can you work in a factory without all ya fingers? Vi demanded. Strewth! You’re no good to me on a production line, luv, no offence, but we can’t be standing round, waiting on you to catch up! I dunno, Management needs to take a good hard look at ’emselves, sending me someone like you, no offence, luv.

Her outspokenness took my breath away, but I thought: So this is how it is. Well, then.

Management had in fact said much the same thing, until I produced Lie Number Two.

I’ve been workin’ on production lines with half a finger missin’ all my life, I told Mr Prentice. Hasn’t stopped me before an’ won’t stop me now.

He’d scratched his brilliantined head and looked dubious but I stood my ground. On a less desperate day, I’d have been shown the door, for sure.

I told Vi the same lie and assured her that her production line would not be slowed down by me.

Well, by the time anyone found me out, I’d made good on my promise and was handling the heavy trays, lining up biscuits, even manoeuvring the cream nozzle, same as all of them.

I’d never manage with a knife again, I knew what my limits were, but you don’t gut herring for three seasons, you don’t knit the whole of your life, without becoming good with your hands. All of that could not be wiped out by the loss of a bit of a finger. And if anyone had ever asked me, I’d have told them straight: Creaming biscuits? A picnic compared to gutting fish.

Aye, I reminded myself again as the factory clock chimed six, I’d every reason to be grateful to Mills & Ware.

~

It was getting dark when I got home. I opened the door and found everything neat: the makeshift bedding folded, bags stacked in corners against the wall. Even Haldane and Jessie looked spit-and-polished and shiny-bright in a way only Clementina could manage in a place where all was new and strange. The teapot was on the sideboard, in a knitted cosy I’d never seen before. She had even managed the Metters. It’d taken days of wrestling with the old beast before I’d got it working, but even a Metters would bide its manners and behave for Clementina.

Ach, an’ here’s your Unty Meggie now, she crooned, pushing Jessie forward with one hand and hooking Hal by the breeches to swing him around to face me. An’ what d’ye say to your Unty Meggie?