‘Stop fussing and just go,’ said Cordelia affectionately.

Peggy kissed her quickly and dashed out of the front door, thankful that Sally and John lived only three streets away at the bottom of the hill.

The terraced houses were over a hundred years old, and had once been cramped, single-storey fishermen’s hovels. They sat at the eastern edge of the seafront facing the shingle beach where Frank and Brendon kept their trawlers, and the front doors opened directly onto the rough track that acted as a pavement.

The entire terrace had gone through many changes over the years as the fishermen left and young families had moved in and converted them into more habitable dwellings. Each one was now two-storeyed, with a bathroom tacked onto the back in the walled courtyard gardens.

Peggy always thought of them as dolls’ houses, and in her many visits to Sally that impression remained, for the rooms were small and low-ceilinged with very little space to store anything. It wasn’t really surprising that it had become impractical for a growing family, and Peggy knew that now Sally was expecting, she and John were trying to sell up so they could move somewhere with more room.

She waved to Ernie and Harry who were playing on the beach, and her rap on the brass knocker was quickly answered by Sally, who was looking extremely well in her first months of pregnancy.

‘Hello, Auntie Peggy,’ she said, giving her a hug before leading her into the front room. ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess, but I ain’t had time to tidy up this morning.’

Peggy smiled, for this radiant, happy girl had come a very long way from the slums of London where she’d been sole carer for her crippled brother Ernie, and her future had seemed so bleak. ‘I don’t mind,’ she said, looking round the rather cluttered space which John had converted into a sewing room.

Shelves on one wall held the carefully folded piles of fabric Sally had harvested and laundered from old ballgowns, cocktail and wedding dresses, evening capes, skirts and coats. The lace, fur and beaded trimmings she’d carefully snipped from them were neatly wound over squares of cardboard.

A rail took up another wall and held the dresses, suits, skirts and blouses she’d made which were waiting to be picked up. A tailor’s dummy stood in the corner, sheathed in a length of white sheeting, and was reflected in the long mirror at its side. And under the window were her cutting table, sewing machine and chair, with two small chemist cabinets beneath that held cottons, needles, pins and all the other small bits and pieces she needed to make her clothes look special.

Peggy eyed the tailor’s dummy with barely contained inquisitiveness. ‘Is that Danuta’s wedding dress?’ she asked eagerly.

‘No. I put that somewhere you can’t see it,’ replied Sally, shooting her a grin. ‘Honestly, Auntie Peggy, you are terrible.’

She looked out at her brother and son who were now throwing pebbles into the sea, and pulled the blind over the window before removing the sheet to reveal the deep sapphire dress and bolero that Peggy would be wearing to Danuta’s wedding next weekend.