‘I might have found you a job.’ Fred rubbed his nose, looking uncertain. ‘Only thing is, it’s out in the open, and if you ain’t used to it —’

‘I don’t care what it is, Fred.’ She led him into the kitchen, where it was warmer, eager to hear more about it. ‘I’ll take anything.’

‘I thought you’d say that. Go along to The Cut Market about eight and see Bet Hawkins. She’s got a stall six down from ours. Her old man fell down the pub step last night and broke his ankle, silly sod.’ Fred held his hands over the stove. ‘Anyway, she needs help for a while, so I told her about you. She said she’d keep the job for you if you want it.’

‘Want it? Of course I do!’ She grinned in delight. ‘What does she sell?’

‘Anything she can lay her hands on like, pots, pans, china, linen and baby clothes.’ Fred chuckled at her obvious excitement. ‘Wrap up well. How loud can you holler?’

‘They’ll hear me five miles away.’ She hugged Fred. ‘Thank you. This means I can really make my home here.’ Jenny sniffed as tears threatened. ‘I’m so lucky.’

‘Ah, Jen.’ Fred shook his head. ‘You’re a wonder. You talk as if this house was a palace.’

‘It is to me, and it’s full of happy memories.’

‘Fred, you here?’ Stan walked in. ‘There you are. We must get moving. Morning, Jen, you gonna see old Bet?’

‘I’ll be there on the dot of eight.’

The men started to walk out when Fred looked back. ‘This won’t be permanent, Jen. As soon as Bet’s old man’s on his feet again he’ll be back.’

‘I understand that.’ Jenny gave a cheeky grin. ‘Perhaps he’ll fall over the pub cat next time and take some more time off.’

Fred and Stan left, their laughter echoing up the street.

There was a bitter wind blowing and Jenny was glad of the red scarf and gloves the Stannards had given her the first Christmas she had been with them. How long ago that seemed. She made her way up Lower Marsh Street, across Waterloo Road, and into The Cut. It was hard to imagine that it had really been a marsh and had been drained a long time ago. The Cut was bustling, with the stallholders setting up for another day’s trading and already shouting to attract customers.

She gave a cheery wave to Fred and Stan as she went by. Ah, this must be it, she thought, as soon as she saw a woman around sixty struggling to open a large box.

‘Mrs Hawkins?’

The woman looked up, puffing from her exertions with the box. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m Jenny, and I was told you need help for a while.’

‘Did Fred send you?’

Jenny nodded, desperately hoping the woman would take her on.