It wasn’t long before the terrible news spread around the Home. As they went about their daily chores, in the kitchen, on the wards and in the laundry, the girls whispered among themselves.

‘Poor Rosie – it’s too much for any one person to bear.’

‘I feel so sorry for her, lying there in that hospital bed all alone.’

‘If only Ronnie and Sally were here, at least she would have something to hold on to.’

‘Where on earth can those two kiddies have got to?’

After her fruitless trip to Carnforth, tired Sybil was busy on yet another hateful house chore, cleaning out the fires and laying new ones in the numerous grates all over the Home. Sybil was racked with misery. She was all too aware that she was totally responsible for the removal of Rosie’s children from Mary Vale, and now her burden of guilt had doubled. If Ronnie and Sally hadn’t run away, Rosie would never have gone into premature labour and lost her baby. It was as simple and as brutal as that and, as far as Sybil was concerned, it was she who had created this nightmare scenario and it was down to her to make reparation.

Having lain awake most of the night, Sybil woke up convinced, yet again, that Ronnie and Sally were now in London.

‘After all, it’s the only place they know apart from Grange,’ she reasoned.

Resolved not to waste another minute, she sprang out of bed determined to find out where they had lived before they came to Mary Vale.

‘I’ve got to at least try to find them and bring them safely home before they get into even bigger trouble,’ she said out loud as she quickly dressed.

Unfortunately, in all her many conversations with Rosie about her family and home life, Sybil had never once heard her mention the address of her former home. All she knew was it was in the Finsbury Park area.

Judging from past experience, Sybil knew for sure that she would not be allowed to visit her friend on the ward, and, even if she were allowed entry by Sister Mann, Sybil would never dream of asking Rosie troubling questions. How could she get the information she required without arousing suspicion? Again, it was Dora she turned to for the information she needed.

After hearing Sybil’s request, Dora cocked her head. ‘I’ll check her file,’ Dora said, and slipped into the office. ‘Wait there.’ A few minutes later she reappeared holding a slip of notepaper that she handed to Sybil. ‘No. 21 Gladstone Gardens, Finsbury Park, London. Let’s hope the place is still standing.’