Her shoulders were stiff and ached. She moved about on the damp straw and under the heavy cover but could not ease herself. The faint nausea persisted. In spite of this, she considered she was better off than Dame Margaret. The previous evening Peter had returned home reporting that Dame Margaret had gone into labour and that Mam Fletcher, who had delivered scores of babies over the last twenty years, was now with her. No one in the village had much hope for a happy and successful birth after M’Dame’s labour. Since Magda, their first child, was born, there had been so many – one forgot how many – wretched little babies either born dead or who died soon after. Thinking of babies, Marion’s right hand went out to check that Alice slept and it met Alice’s cold button nose, but the child slept deeply, and so did Peter, with long slow breaths.

Into the silence dropped a strange distant kwah kwah kwah sound, and at the same instant Marion felt a jerk by her feet and intensity in Peterkin’s movements. She lay absolutely still, listening to him. The straw rustled as he sat up and got out of bed. There was a pause while she guessed he searched for a cloak or tied his belt on, then she heard furtive movements as he unhooked the lower half of the door. She opened an eye and saw a faint dawn light as he crept out and then gingerly pulled the door to behind him. She smiled a little to herself in the dark and stretched her feet down to where he had left a warmish patch of straw. She lay there long, shoulders hunched up, occasionally shivering violently, awaiting the dawn. The distant kwah kwah continued. Marion waited and wondered. Alice whimpered, and Marion sat up and helped her into the big bed. Alice’s marvellously warm body snuggled against Marion’s stomach, and Alice’s icy face pressed on Marion’s aching shoulder. They both dozed again.

A much louder and quicker kwahkwahkwah sounded, and faded, but the noise had woken Marion finally. She rose, and left Alice asleep close to Peter’s heaving back, and tied her belt round her waist and wrapped her now almost warm feet in the strips of damp cloth, pulled on her cap, tied it firmly under her chin, stuffing her loose hair under it, and prepared to start the day. She pushed open both halves of the door and in the dim light, attended to the fire. It took much patience with little bits of twig, as dry as she could find, and much gentle bellowing to get a little flame going and then to balance bits of old woven fence on the twigs. Peter was waking up with many grunts and heaves.

‘What you doing here, Allikin?’ he muttered, stroking her face. ‘Where’s your mam, my poppet?’

Alice sat up and pointed, ‘Mam doing fire,’ she said.

At that moment the light from the open door dimmed and Peterkin appeared.