‘Oh – we just made it.’ It was another young woman from the workroom, called Mabel, looking at her with a wry smile as they hurried along the corridor. Mabel worked up at the other end of the room from her.

‘Thank you,’ Annie panted, taking off her poor straw hat and shaking it. She was encouraged by Mabel’s friendliness. ‘Let’s hope so!’

They dashed up the stairs and into the stamping room just in the nick of time. Miss Hinks glowered at them as they ran in and quickly closed the door as if she thought they might try to escape out through it again.

‘Eh, Mabs,’ Dora bawled along the room, ‘nearly lost yer tail there, dain’t yer?’

‘And you, Annie!’ Hetty turned, seated at her press.

For a second, Annie took this as a criticism, before seeing the grin on Hetty’s face. It was the first time Hetty had ever really spoken to her in a normal way and she felt a glow spread through her.

‘I’m surprised you dain’t get blown away, little tiddler of a thing like you,’ Doris said.

Annie looked round in surprise. ‘I nearly blooming well did!’ she said, grinning.

If Doris was teasing her – or even speaking to her – things really had come on. She was getting used to all the bravado, the Marie Lloyd songs, all delivered with as filthy a slant to their meaning as possible. And now they seemed to be talking to her as if she was one of them. She had learned that teasing was a mark of affection. No one had teased her and Margaret at home since their mother died.

Lizzie was already at her work station and just as Annie sat down the bell rang. Everyone was off and instantly the room was full of the thumping of the presses.

‘Go on, Doris – give us a song!’ someone called out.

‘What d’yer want then?’ Doris shouted back, never missing a second’s work. Her hand flew back and fro, feeding in the metal strip, swinging the press, bringing it down with a thump. Annie knew that Doris had worked here for over thirty years, never seeming to feel the need to move to a more skilled department.

‘Just give us summat cheerful, bab!’

Doris started singing, la-la-ing the words she couldn’t remember, but the chorus came loud and fervent from all along the bench, ‘A little of what yer fancy does yer good!’

Annie, whose upbringing had taught her the exact opposite of this sentiment, did not join in, but she couldn’t help smiling at the song, and at Doris being in such energetic voice at this time on such a grim morning. Then she noticed that Lizzie wasn’t singing either and that her face looked pale and strained.

‘You all right, Lizzie?’ she asked, wondering if the girl was sick again.