‘Tea?’ Aunt Hatt erupted. ‘He needs a darn sight more than tea by the look of him. Lad looks as if he needs a square meal, a bath and a delouse! Get Mrs Sullivan to give him what’s left of today’s dinner.’

‘Oh, Auntie, thank you!’ Margaret burst out in relieved amazement. ‘It’s true what my mother said – people here have hearts of gold!’

Mrs Sullivan’s heart seemed slightly less gilded, however, and her face was sour as gone-off milk as she spooned some of the day’s stew into a pan to heat. But as soon as Den was seated at the table in the back room, eating stew and boiled potatoes with silent intensity, Margaret saw a gradual unwinding in the child as he grew warmer and his belly filled. He picked up the plate and licked off every morsel and she did not like to correct his manners in the face of such hunger. He was so thin, she could see the tiny bones moving in his grubby jawline.

‘Are your little sisters feeling better too?’ she asked as Den picked up his cup of sweet tea with both hands and held it to his lips.

‘Ivy is.’

‘Not Ada then?’

Margaret felt a stab of real worry. It was days now. And would poor Mrs Poole have any idea what to do? She wanted to question the boy more, but she could see that now he had eaten his fill, his attention was fastened on the room around him. He looked all about him, seeming awed.

‘There’s a lot of things in ’ere,’ he said. ‘Is this a shop?’

‘No, Den – it’s my auntie’s room,’ she said. ‘She likes her bits and pieces. Pretty, isn’t it?’ In truth, she found the room stiflingly overcrowded. She was used to something simpler.

‘What about this poor boy’s feet?’ Aunt Hatt said as she arrived.

‘What happened to your shoes, Den?’ Margaret asked.

‘I ’ad boots but I growed out of ’em,’ he said. ‘They’m too big for Ada and Ivy yet.’

‘I’ve nothing here,’ Aunt Hatt said, almost to herself. ‘Anything of Eb’s or Georgie’s would be far too big. I wonder if Clara’s brother . . .’ She drifted away to speak to Georgie at the back and returned. ‘Clara’s got young brothers. We can’t help you tonight, young man,’ she said. ‘But we’ll find something for you, if your mother can’t. Poor little soul – and it’s only going to get colder.’

Margaret found a few coppers and relieved Den of his firewood before she sent him home. Once again she watched him disappear off into the dark, heading back with the sureness of a homing pigeon.

Annie, heading in the opposite direction from Pope Street, caught a glimpse of the lad, trotting along the pavement.

‘Den?’ she called to him, realizing who it was, but he was already gone.