Then she buttered the girls’ bread and, spreading a generous helping of jam on top, she told them, ‘Eat up, you lot. We’ve only got fifteen minutes before we need to be on our way.’ God only knew how it had got so late.

When breakfast was over, Rosie showed her face round the door. ‘Just in time, am I?’ she said, and all the children cheered to see her there. ‘I got my own breakfast,’ Georgie proudly told her. ‘’Cos I’m eight, and I’m a boy.’

‘Yes, and you spilt a dollop o’ jam on the table, when our Molly told you not to.’ Milly always had to have the last say.

‘Hey! Stop arguing, you two.’ Coming into the room, Rosie lifted the bairn from Molly’s arms. ‘I’ll see to the two young ’uns,’ she offered. ‘You’d best get off, lass, or you’ll never catch that tram.’ She gave a shudder. ‘I’ll tell ye summat else an’ all. October’s in the air. You’ll need your coats, it’s bitter outside.’

A few minutes later, Molly had the two children ready; dressed in their heavy coats and scarves, they were prepared for Siberia.

‘Right!’ Ushering them out the door, she hurried them down the street and up to Cicely Bridge. As luck would have it, the tram was ten minutes late and they had plenty of time, though the wind was keen, just as Rosie had said. ‘I don’t like being late for school,’ Milly whined. ‘Everybody looks at you when you go in.’

Georgie had the answer. ‘Put your tongue out at them.’

‘That’s no way to behave,’ Molly scolded. ‘I’m surprised at you, Georgie.’ He was always such a little gentleman.

Subdued by her reprimand, Georgie was quiet on the journey to school. ‘I didn’t mean it,’ he said sheepishly as they got off the tram, and his smile readily returned when his big sister gave him a hug. Then it was Milly’s turn. ‘Hurry in, and don’t forget to tell them the tram was late.’

She watched them through the gate and into the building, and waved as they went through the door.

A few minutes later she was back on the tram and on her way home. Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Amy. ‘Oh, Mam! What am I supposed to say when they start asking after you?’ Rage had turned to despair. Her own life must take second place. With her mam gone, her job now was to hold the family together.

It was a daunting prospect.

By the time Molly got back, Rosie had the table cleared and the tea made. Bertha was seated cross-legged on the rug, playing with her doll, while Eddie was content in his pram with a bottle of warm milk.

While they were quiet, the two women had time to talk about the future.

When Rosie took herself off to the scullery to pour the tea, Molly struck a match to the kindling wood in the fire grate. With a few knobs of coal from the scuttle close by, there was soon a cheery fire underway. ‘You’re right about it being cold outside,’ she told Rosie. ‘There’s a real sharp nip in the air.’