‘How’s yer mam?’

Carefully phrasing her answer, Molly told her, ‘As well as can be expected. Isn’t that what they say?’

‘Well, that’s all right then. Hey, Molly, can I use your parlour?’

‘What for?’ What was Sandra up to now?

‘Look.’ Holding out her bag, she explained, ‘I need to change. I daren’t let Mam see me go out all dolled up.’

‘Oh, go on then.’ You couldn’t argue with Sandra. She always got her own way in the end. ‘But I won’t lie for you if she asks!’

‘Fair enough.’

When Sandra went inside, Molly got back up the ladder. ‘Daft as a brush,’ she muttered, but the girl’s antics brought a smile to her face all the same.

In no time at all, her friend was back, anxiously peeping from the doorway. ‘Me mam’s not about, is she?’

When Molly shook her head, Sandra ventured out. Dressed in a tight skirt and an equally tight-fitting top, she teetered down the step on high-heeled shoes. ‘Do I look nice?’

Molly gave her the once-over. Sandra had plastered her face with make-up, and her hair was piled up and secured in a pretty comb on top. ‘You look… different.’

Sandra was delighted. ‘Thanks, gal,’ she said, and gave the ladder another shake. ‘Cross your legs if anybody passes,’ she laughed. ‘You don’t want to give ’em a fright, do yer?’ With that she went away down the street at a clumsy run.

‘Sandra!’

Screeching to a halt, the girl yelled back, ‘Now what?’

‘Happen you should take off some of that make-up.’

Indignant, Sandra dismissed the idea with a two-fingered gesture. ‘Like hell I will,’ she retorted. ‘It took me long enough to put the bugger on.’

Molly could advise her no more, except to call out, ‘Mind how you go then. We’ll talk tomorrow.’ She watched her friend skip down the street like a two-year-old, and couldn’t help but be concerned. This new fella sounded like a fly devil to her.

In the pit of her stomach, she had a feeling it would all end in tears.

When the windows were sparkling all over the front of the house, Molly packed away her equipment and took the children inside. The bairn was still asleep in his pram, and Bertha was already yawning. ‘Tired, are you, sweetheart?’ Molly asked, and no sooner had she finished speaking than Bertha climbed on to the sofa and was away in the Land of Nod.

‘Well, I never!’ Molly was amazed, but pleased. ‘I’d best get on with that washing while I’ve a chance.’

Taking off the woolly jumper, she laid it over the little girl. Then she placed a few knobs of coal on the fire, and taking herself into the scullery, she drew all the dirty linen from the wash-tub and separated it into different piles; coloureds in one, whites in another. Flicking the switch beneath the dolly-tub, she then filled it with water, and throwing in a handful of soap flakes, began putting the whites in one by one.