Margaret and Annie looked at each other and both got to their feet. As they reached the hall, Aunt Hatt watched from the doorway.

Lizzie Poole was just inside, looking ready to flee out again at a second’s notice. She had a sodden-looking shawl wrapped over her head, and her white oval of a face looked distraught.

‘Annie – it’s our mom,’ she burst out. ‘Can you come?’

‘Is she ill?’ Annie said, reaching immediately for her coat.

‘I’ll come too,’ Margaret said, pulling hers on.

‘No – not ill exactly . . . ’Er’s just sat there and ’er’s gone all strange – won’t say a word to me. And Nellie’s disappeared – I dunno where she is!’ Her voice teetered on the edge of tears, but she was intent on getting the message out.

‘We’ll go, Auntie,’ Margaret said.

‘D’you need me to come?’ Margaret could see her aunt was reluctant and she touched her arm.

‘We’ll come back if we need you.’ She mouthed the word sorry before the three of them set out into another freezing, wet night.

‘What’s happened, Lizzie?’ Annie quizzed her. ‘Have you any idea?’

‘No,’ Lizzie said. ‘I can’t get a word out of ’er. She looks so queer. I told Den to look after Ivy. And he ain’t been to school today – I know he ain’t and he won’t tell us where he’s been . . .’ Her worries came tumbling out.

In the mizzling rain they passed along the muddy streets to the yard in Pope Street. In the Pooles’ house, they found Mary sitting on the chair by the range, bolt upright, staring ahead of her. Den had Ivy at the table and the two of them were eating the remains of a loaf of bread.

Margaret and Annie approached Mary Poole very gently. Margaret was surprised that Annie seemed uncertain and did not take the lead. She found herself going up to the young woman and saying softly, ‘Mrs Poole? It’s Margaret Hanson – and Annie’s here too. Is there anything we can do to help you?’

For a moment she thought Mary Poole had not even heard her. She wore her usual old frock covered by her shawl and her pale hair was caught up scraggily on her neck. Her rigid back did not give for a moment, but stayed ramrod straight.

Margaret and Annie exchanged glances and Margaret looked at Lizzie, who shrugged desperately. Den and Ivy sat so still, it was as if they were scarcely breathing.

Margaret walked round in front of Mary Poole and knelt in front of her, taking her icy hands in hers.

‘My dear Mary,’ she appealed to her, looking up into her face. ‘Can you not tell us what the trouble is?’