Maggie Lett’s voice sailed through the air. ‘Have you no shame, you young ’uns?’ Waving her arms, she let fly with a stream of abuse that would have shamed a navvy. ‘Gerroff out of it, afore I fetch a bucket o’ cold watter!’

Laughing and blushing, they ran on, almost colliding with Amy, who was hurrying down the steps to fetch her daughter. ‘I were just coming to get you,’ she told Molly. ‘Your dad’ll be home soon, and you know what he’s like. Lottie’s playing me up again, and Eddie’s messed himself twice… I can’t think what ails him. One thing’s for sure, your dad won’t like it, eating his tea with the smell of Eddie’s dirty nappies in the air. I’ve rinsed ’em out and left ’em soaking in a pail of Omo, but your dad will still smell it, he always does.’

In the light of what Rosie had said, Molly’s anger was quick to rise. ‘Happen you should remind him they’re his children, too.’

Amy shook her head. ‘You know what he’s like, lass.’

‘I’m sorry, Mam,’ she apologised. ‘Don’t worry, I’m on my way in. When Dad gets home, you can leave the kids to me.’ And if he started throwing his weight around, he’d hear a few home truths from her, and no mistake.

Relieved, Amy shifted her attention to Alfie. ‘Hello, Alfie, lad. All right, are you?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Tattersall.’

‘That’s good.’ With that she went back inside, calling behind her, ‘Don’t be long, Molly.’ The pain in her back was giving her grief, and there was a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. ‘Drat that Jack. He’s unnerved me, that’s what it is,’ she muttered, pushing the door shut. At the back of her mind, she prayed to God it wasn’t the start of an early labour.

Outside, Alfie lowered his voice to a mere whisper. ‘You still haven’t given me a proper answer.’

‘I haven’t heard the question yet.’

‘Aw, come on, Moll, don’t torment me!’

Smiling, she teased him as always. ‘Oh, you mean the question you were asking, before your mam got me up dancing?’ She had hoped he would ask again, and now that he had she was thrilled enough to keep him suffering a minute or two. It was a girl’s privilege, after all.

‘You’re a minx!’

‘But you love me?’ Her hands reached up to stroke his face. With her gaze holding his, she told him what he wanted to hear. ‘You already know what my answer is,’ she said. ‘To be your wife… Mrs Alfred Craig.’ She let the words linger on her lips. ‘Oh, Alfie. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

‘Me, too.’ Covering her small hands in his, he asked, ‘But when?’

‘Whenever you like.’ Tomorrow, if it was possible, she thought joyfully.

‘What about Easter?’ he suggested. ‘It’s only seven months away. By that time we’ll have saved enough money for a month’s rent on a decent house, with a few quid left over to buy the essentials. We’ll not be able to furnish a house top to bottom, straight off,’ he warned, ‘but as long as we have a bed to lie in and a couple of chairs for sitting, we can eat off our laps and buy whatever else we need as we go along. What do you say, sweetheart?’