It was a fortnight later. Between them, Ruby and Ellie had transformed the once dark and uninviting room into a bright and cheerful little dwelling place. With Mrs Duffy’s permission, they had painted the walls and ceiling a pale sunshine yellow, which had immediately made it a different environment. It had taken three coats of paint and a lot of elbow grease to cover the horrible brown colour, but the finished result had been worth the effort.

Ruby had noticed a small Singer sewing machine for sale in the pawnshop next to the hardware store where they’d purchased the paint, and had bought it with a view to making new curtains and a matching cover for the thick eiderdown they’d seen in a second-hand shop. She’d assured Ellie it was a good bargain at a third of the price of a new machine, and an investment for the future because she could make their clothes on it too. But that wasn’t the whole reason she’d wanted it. Even at school she’d excelled at needlework and since working for Mrs Walton her skill and expertise had grown, but it was the satisfaction she felt at turning a piece of material into something beautiful that was the important thing. It was an essential part of her, a true gift Mrs Walton had called it, and even though her world had fractured and she was all at sea, she didn’t want to lose that part of herself. She needed it. It was all she had left.

Since moving in they had kept the little fire going night and day; initially to air everything and dry the paint, but then because it made the room feel more like home. Now the musty smell of damp was a thing of the past, and with the flowered curtains and eiderdown and a small clippy mat covering the limited expanse of visible floorboards, the place was unrecognizable.

Admittedly there was barely room for one person to live in the space, let alone two, but gradually they had begun to master the art of simmering a stew or broth over the open fire, which they would supplement with baked potatoes cooked in the ashes under the burning coals or a loaf of bread bought from the bakery in the next street. Breakfast was usually toast, and although they had lost the odd slice of bread when it had slipped off the toasting fork into the fire, their proficiency was growing. Ruby had even cooked them porridge one morning, and although it had had a slightly burnt flavour where the bottom of the pan had caught, it had filled a hole in their tummies.