‘Pa says, will you come with us for our walk tomorrow morning?’ Her face then broke into a childish grin and she wrung her hands together. ‘Please,’ she wheedled. ‘Say you will!’

Margaret was about to dismiss this out of hand. Tomorrow morning was Sunday. Every Sunday she and Annie walked into Birmingham to Carrs Lane to attend the Congregational church. ‘But . . .’ she began.

‘Please,’ Daisy said sweetly. ‘Pa wants you to – and so do I.’

In those seconds, Margaret felt as if her father and all the church elders, not to mention God, were breathing down her neck. Sunday! Church! Nowadays they were only going once on a Sunday which was bad enough – not like the twice-or thrice-daily Sunday services of childhood. A battle took place, briefly and violently, inside her. Philip Tallis wanted her to go. Daisy also. She quizzed herself sternly. Where did the duty of love lie?

‘All right.’ She could hardly believe she was saying it. She felt a wondering burst of inner excitement. Philip Tallis wanted her to go . . . Philip, who had held her so close and tenderly after the meeting on Thursday. Who, ever since, had flooded her mind and heart.

‘You’ll come!’ Daisy jumped up and down, her hair flying. ‘Oh, goody goody! I’ll go and tell Pa!’

‘What time?’ Margaret called after her.

‘Oh . . .’ Daisy said vaguely over her shoulder. ‘You know – morning time.’

Whether by coincidence or not – Margaret never decided – later that day Aunt Hatt came into the back room, holding against herself a skirt in a wool weave the colour of crushed raspberries.

‘Would you fancy this, Margaret?’ she said. ‘Only, I’m getting a bit broad in the beam these days and . . . Well, it might do you nicely if you alter the waist a bit and you can let the hem down. It’d look very nice on you, I’d think.’

‘Oh!’ Margaret said, her heart picking up speed with pleasure at the sight. ‘How lovely! But . . .’ She was used to wearing drab greys and black and all her clothes were so old now, that the thought of wearing such a bright colour felt rather sinful.

‘But what?’ Aunt Hatt said. ‘It’d suit your colouring. Go on – try it on.’

‘Well, it would go very well with my cream blouse,’ Margaret said, feeling a smile creep across her face.

‘Here you are then.’ She handed the lovely soft thing to Margaret. ‘Pleased to see it go to a good home. Our Clara’s far too thin for anything of mine.’

Margaret spent a happy hour sorting out the waist and hem and pressing it, excited at having something so new and lovely to wear the next day.

‘What d’you mean, you’re not coming to church?’

Annie stood by the bed, fastening the buttons of her deep blue Sunday frock, a scandalized expression on her face.