‘Your dinner was kept warm for hours. It’s not Mam’s fault if it’s spoiled,’ Molly told him. ‘I’ll get you summat now. There’s eggs and bacon and a couple of sausages left over. Sit yourself down. It’ll only take a few minutes to throw it all in the frypan.’

Out of the corner of his eye Frank regarded Molly with contempt. ‘It’s her place to look after me,’ he said, tightening the khaki belt round his knuckles. ‘You’ll stay out of it, if you know what’s good for you.’

Undeterred by his bullying, she thrust herself between the two of them. ‘I already told you, our mam’s not well.’

Sensing trouble, Amy intervened. ‘It’s all right, lass,’ she said. ‘Go up and see to the children.’ In a softer voice she added, ‘I expect they’re awake now.’ Frightened, too, she imagined.

In great pain, she began to hobble towards the kitchen; not resisting when Molly eased her gently into a chair. ‘Stay where you are, Mam,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll get his meal.’

‘Like bloody hell you will!’ Darting forward, Frank thrust Molly aside, before wrenching Amy from her chair. Surprised when his daughter lunged at him from behind, he lashed out with the strength of an ox, sending his wife careering across the room, and Molly with her.

Steadier now, he strode towards them, his cruel eyes fixed on Amy’s terrified face. ‘Frightened of me, are you? Well now, that’s how it should be an’ all.’ His soft laugh sent a chill through both women. ‘I expect you’ll be quick enough to get my dinner now, but you see, Amy lass, I reckon you still ain’t learned your lesson. Not by a long chalk.’ Raising a clenched fist he steadied himself to administer the punishment.

‘No, Dad.’ Stepping forward, Molly held out her arms. ‘Touch her and you’ll have me to deal with!’ Her blue eyes blazed with anger.

‘You!’ Spitting in her face, he brought his fist down on her temple. The blow seemed to lift her into the air and launch her to the far side of the room, where her head struck the corner of the sideboard, before she slithered, unconscious, to the floor.

When he raised his foot to kick her, Amy cried out, ‘No, Frank. Leave her be, or I swear to God, you’ll be sorry!’

Something in his wife’s frightened eyes stirred a deep-down suspicion in him. ‘“Sorry”? What does that mean, eh?’

‘Nothing.’ Unable to look at him any longer in case he saw the truth of what she had in mind, Amy turned away.

Stooping, he grabbed her by the throat, and raising her face to his, asked quietly, ‘What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She felt the colour of guilt crawling up her face and knew he had seen it.

‘Summat’s been going on,’ he persisted. ‘Has there been somebody ’ere?’

Fearing for her life, Amy shook her head. ‘There’s been nobody here, Frank.’

‘You’re a bloody liar! There’s guilt written all over your lying face! Who were it, eh? Some fancy man you intend running off with? Is that what you meant just now when you said I’d be sorry?’ With one hand gripping her swollen midriff, he pulled the collar of her blouse until it was like a gallow rope round her neck. ‘How do I know this brat is mine?’ he demanded. ‘You coulda been playing dirty behind my back.’ As his voice rose, his spittle spattered her face. ‘Happen it weren’t me as filled yer belly after all.’