Her husband did not get up. Annie walked round and saw a gaunt, pale man. His hair hung in greasy hanks round his neck and he was very dishevelled and dirty-looking. He was in stockinged feet, with white-potato heels and toes, and by the hearth sat a pair of black boots whose uppers had almost completely cleaved away from the soles. As he looked up at her she saw a face with grey eyes like Den’s and which looked both very young and very old all at once. Unlike Den’s piercing gaze, Wilf Poole’s appeared vague and distracted.

‘How do you do,’ Annie said, holding out her hand.

‘All right?’ Wilf Poole raised a gaunt arm and gave her hand a limp shake. ‘The missus says you’ve been helping ’er.’

‘Just a little,’ Annie said.

‘’Er’s been marvellous,’ Mary said. She seemed full of animation and anxious to be hospitable. ‘’Ave a cuppa tea with us, will yer, bab?’

‘Oh, thank you,’ Annie said, feeling it would be bad manners to refuse. Mary seemed so happy to be able to do something for her.

‘Sit down,’ Lizzie said, suddenly a host. She pulled a chair out from under the table. Annie could feel Den watching her.

‘I see you’re better, Den – and Ivy, aren’t you, dear?’ She smiled at the little girl. ‘Where’s Ada, Mrs Poole?’

‘Oh – ’er’s upstairs,’ Mary Poole said. ‘’Aving a bit of a sleep.’

Annie felt a clutch of worry inside her. The little girl had been sick for what felt like a very long time now.

‘Is she no better?’ she asked, trying to contain her worry.

‘She is a bit,’ Lizzie said. But her eyes were worried. ‘’Er’s not being sick any more. But . . .’ She whispered, ‘’Er messes ’erself.’ Lizzie, too, slept in that crowded bed. ‘If she has anything at night, to eat, like.’

‘Oh, I think ’er’s on the mend,’ Mary said. ‘She’s ’ad milk. ’Er likes ’er milk.’

‘May I go and see her?’ Annie asked cautiously. ‘I won’t wake her if she’s fast asleep.’

‘If you want,’ Mary said as Annie headed for the stairs. ‘I’ve got yer a cuppa tea ’ere, bab.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be down in a moment.’

The dark, mouldy house oppressed her more than usual today. The wall beside her had a clammy feel and the distemper was crumbling off it. She heard someone following her up the stairs and saw a flickering light and turned to see Lizzie behind her carrying a candle. The girl gave her a solemn look, communicating more worry than she had admitted to downstairs.

Annie pushed open the door to the children’s room. A rank smell was the first thing in evidence.

‘She keeps messing herself,’ Lizzie whispered again, in apology. ‘In the night, I mean. It’s all sort of watery – it’s hard to clean up the bed.’