The following morning the atmosphere was fraught, to say the least. With rations at an all-time low, Sunday was the only day the family all sat down together to tuck into a cooked breakfast, but this morning neither Queenie or Viv was hungry.

‘You have to leave him, Mum,’ Queenie insisted. The bastard was still in bed and he had left more than a hand mark across her face. He’d caught her with the big aluminium ring he wore, which had left a very noticeable bruise on her cheekbone. She couldn’t tell the girls in work the truth tomorrow, she’d have to pretend she’d fallen down the stairs or something. Just like her mum always did.

‘And where we going to go, now Edna’s gone? How we meant to pay rent and put food on the table without your dad?’ Molly replied in a low voice.

‘He’s getting up,’ Vivian hissed.

Eric Wade came down the stairs with a heavy heart. The previous evening was patchy, but he could clearly remember slapping Queenie. The war hadn’t helped his anger issues. He’d seen some awful things while serving his country. Men had their heads and limbs blown off while in close proximity to him. Then he’d taken a bullet and the limp he’d been left with made him feel far less of a man than the one he was before. Eric knew he was lucky to be alive, but it didn’t seem that way at times. The war haunted him. And sometimes when he closed his eyes at night he wished that he were dead.

Tuesday arrived and after bolting down her dinner, Queenie darted upstairs to get ready. She didn’t have a lot of nice clothes. Few women did since they’d lowered the rationing coupons. She tried on her grey utility frock and was surprised at how much nicer it looked with her blonde hair, bright red lipstick, thick black mascara and stockings with the black pen drawn line up the back. Utility clothing was labelled CC41 and been introduced by the government during the war. Queenie smiled. Mrs O’Leary had kindly slipped her a couple of extra ration coupons earlier that Patrick and Daniel were getting hold of. She’d use those at the weekend to buy a more glamorous outfit.

Queenie smiled at her reflection. Working in the shop and meeting Doreen had taught her a lot about fashion. So had reading Woman’s Own, Everywoman and Star Weekly. Those were the three magazines herself, Doreen and Eliza read. They would each buy a copy, then swap them over once read. Apparently Hitler hated women looking glamorous. He didn’t want them wearing make-up or perfume back in Germany. That’s why the magazines urged all women in England to do themselves up to the nines. Not only did it make you feel better, by doing so you were also getting one over on that bastard Hitler.

Vivian sat on the bed. She couldn’t wait to leave school herself, get a posh job and wear nice clothes and make-up. ‘You look nice. Where is Albie taking you?’