‘Mrs Wilson,’ murmured Danuta, swiftly writing down the address and checking the long list of expectant mothers pinned on the board. ‘This is her third baby, I see.’

‘Yes, and if it’s like her other deliveries, she’ll probably be making a lot of fuss and have it quite quickly, so you’d better get round there sharpish before that husband of hers passes out. I gave her the delivery pack last week, so she’s well prepared. I’m sorry to dump this on you, Danuta, but Mrs Frost is taking her time, and I daren’t leave her as this is her first and the poor little thing is scared witless. If you need me, I’ll be here.’

Florence disconnected the call and Danuta quickly noted down Mrs Frost’s address in case someone had to fetch help. She then pinned up her hair again, settled her cap back on and picked up her bag, along with a small canister of gas and air, and a blanket. With a quick glance at the clock, she hurried outside, stowed everything in her bicycle basket and set off for Exchange Lane. She wouldn’t have time to phone Stanislaw now, but if Mrs Wilson had a quick delivery, then she might be able to get to the Grove before it closed.

The two-up, two-down terraced house was close to the telephone exchange which was situated in the lane that ran parallel to the High Street. Danuta leaned her bike against the wall and grabbed her things out of the basket. She knocked on the shabby front door, noting the peeling paint on the window frame, and the snow-white lace curtains that hung behind the gleaming glass. The step had been recently scrubbed, and a small tub of petunias stood beside it. Mrs Wilson was clearly house-proud.

‘Thank goodness you’ve come.’ The harassed man who opened the door had a squalling toddler clinging to one leg and another squirming and hollering on his hip. ‘The wife’s upstairs screaming blue murder – which is upsetting the kids.’

‘Thank you, Mr Wilson. I will go straight up while you see to the children.’

Mr Wilson disappeared with them into the back of the house and Danuta hurried up the uncarpeted stairs. She followed the sound of the yells coming from the front bedroom and pushed open the door.

‘Now, now, Mrs Wilson,’ she soothed the red-faced woman in the bed. ‘What is all this noise?’

‘It bloody well hurts,’ she snapped. ‘You’d yell too if you felt you were trying to push out a flaming wrecking-ball. None of the others were like this. Something’s wrong, I just know it, and Fred’s worse than bloody useless.’

‘Your husband can’t really do much in the circumstances,’ Danuta said, putting her bag down on the bedside table. ‘But I’m here now, so we’ll get through this together.’

‘Yeah, this is flaming women’s work,’ Mrs Wilson growled. ‘We always get the rough end of the stick, don’t we?’

Danuta reached into her bag for her stethoscope and slung it round her neck. ‘Let me examine you, Mrs Wilson, and then I will make you more comfortable.’