‘Oh, my,’ Aunt Hatt said, looking around her with a shudder as they emerged from the entry and went to the Pooles’ door. Even though there was very little to be seen of the dismal yard, it was still possible to feel the mean, cramped atmosphere of the place. The rain was falling insistently and they could hear the splash of water from a broken guttering somewhere further along.

Lizzie opened the door to Annie’s knock. She gave a strained smile.

‘Hello, Lizzie,’ Annie said as they went in. ‘I told you we’d come.’

‘It’s nice of you, Annie,’ Lizzie said, opening the door. She sounded full of cold and kept sniffing.

Mary Poole was at the table, bent over a pile of boxes. The room smelt unpleasantly of the gum she was painting on them to stick their edges together. As she looked up, Margaret could see the exhaustion in her eyes, her thin face otherwise showing no emotion, as if she had no remaining energy for that. She, too, did not look well. Even in the dim light they could see the redness of her nose.

‘Mrs Poole – my Aunt Harriet’s come to see you, as well as Margaret and me,’ Annie said and Margaret heard how gently she spoke.

Mary Poole looked up, seeming startled, but Aunt Hatt, uncomfortable as she was at being in this place, cleared her face of any dismay and spoke to her with a quiet civility.

‘How d’you do, Mrs Poole? I’m Mrs Watts. No, don’t get up. I’m sorry if we’ve taken you by surprise.’

‘Lizzie,’ Annie said quietly. ‘We brought you some stew – it’s rabbit. Is there any heat in the fire?’

The room was very cold and Margaret wondered if they had anything to put on the range. While Annie and Lizzie tried to get it going, she looked around. There was no sign of Den. Ivy, her hair a tangle as usual, was on the floor by the range with Nellie.

‘What beautiful children!’ Aunt Hatt said, going over to the two girls and bending down to them. ‘Is this your little sister?’ she said to Ivy, who nodded, wide-eyed. Nellie put her arms out and chuckled. She looked like a tight little parcel, wrapped in an array of grubby white knitted garments, and she had a lovely, round face.

Aunt Hatt picked her up and tickled her cheek, talking to her, as she brought her over towards the table. Margaret sat on the chair by the fire and reached out to Ivy, who came to her shyly. Poor little mite, Margaret thought. She’s so lost without Ada. She took the child on her knee and began to say little rhymes with her. Still holding Nellie, Aunt Hatt sat down at the table beside Mary Poole.