She went to the front door and opened it, peering out through the gap allowed by her security chain. It was her mother. Taking the chain off she opened the door wide, allowing her mother in.

Bernadette walked in the tiny flat and her face screwed up with distaste at the stench. She hadn’t brought Delia up to live like this! To live like a bloody hippy! She bit back the words that were in her mouth and said instead: ‘You’ve heard about your cousins, I take it?’

Delia nodded, biting down on her lip to stop the tears.

‘Oh, stop the act, Delia, I ain’t in the mood!’ Bernadette’s voice was harsh and Delia fejtthe full force of her anger.

‘You’ve been knocking off a bloke called Dave, ain’t you?’

Delia watched her mother warily as she walked through to her tiny lounge. She watched her mother’s eyes scan the dirty room and felt a prickle of shame. The place was filthy.

‘What if I have?’ There was defiance in her tone now, brought on by humiliation at her mother’s obvious disgust for her living conditions.

‘Well, your dad had a call about him. As if we ain’t got enough bloody trouble on our plates as it is! It seems he’s an Old Bill, CID. That was clever of you, wasn’t it? But then, you always found trouble, Delia, didn’t you? Well, let me tell you something, girl, if my sister ever fmds out about the conversations you had with him about Jimmy’s murder, there’ll be another one done. Do you get my drift?’

Delia watched her mother’s eyes. They scanned her face with no glimmer of maternal sorrow at what her daughter, her beautiful talented daughter, had been reduced to. Gone was the loving smile that told Delia she would put up with her no matter what. Instead there was open animosity, and it frightened Delia.

‘I ... I’ve not said a word, Mum ... I swear!’

Bernadette poked her daughter in her ample breasts.

‘Shall I tell you something, Delia? You was always my baby. You. Not Becky, poor Becky, who was always second best. Remember how we all used to laugh at her, at her posh ways and her posh voice? We all knew Becky would chase respectability, and deep inside I was glad. But you, miss, you was my baby, the favourite. Not any more. Not after the turn out with Jimmy and little Faithey. You don’t care a penny piece for that little girl, I’m bringing her up for you. Your dad’s her dad, he dotes on her. She don’t even bother to ask where you are any more. And I will look after her, I promise you that, young lady.