But she was not feeling humble. She walked home that night elated. She had proved something – she was on a level with all the others! Walking the streets that workers were milling along, she laughed at herself inwardly. What a funny thing most people would consider me, she thought. Being pleased at working well in a factory. But she was full of burning conviction that the meaning of her life was, somehow, to be involved with people – God’s people. To do His work among them, wherever that might take her. It felt a bold and adventurous vocation, though she had no clear plan. She just assumed that once she was accepted in the factory, she would be able to teach the other women – perhaps preach to them in the break – and that she would go down in history as one of the great missionaries who had converted the slum dwellers and factory workers of Birmingham!

She stepped into number twenty-six Chain Street and was hanging her coat in the hall when she became aware of someone standing at the bottom of the stairs; she jumped, her hand going to her heart.

‘Sorry, er, miss . . . Didn’t mean to startle you . . .’

Heart thudding, she peered into the gloom, then turned away, uninterested. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Jack Sidwell, the young man who had brought them from the railway station.

‘I er . . .’ He sounded flustered. ‘I wanted a word with you, Miss, er, Miss Annie.’

‘Did you?’ She was adjusting her sleeves, still wrapped in her passionate thoughts about the future. Surely he hadn’t been lurking about in the hall waiting for her to come home?

‘Yes, I, er . . . I was gunna ask if . . . Well, if you’d like to walk out with me, some . . .’ He did not seem to have thought this through. ‘Some . . . day. Soon.’

‘Oh, no,’ Annie dismissed him, walking towards the office. ‘No, thank you. Absolutely not.’

Aunt Hatt, Margaret, Susan and Bridget were all looking up at her when she walked into the office. The gas was already lit, casting a soft glow around the room. They heard the front door close with a sullen click.

‘Was that poor Jack?’ Aunt Hatt said. Annie could not tell whether her aunt was trying not to laugh.

‘Yes,’ she said breezily.

‘Well, that was telling him, poor feller,’ Bridget said. Annie thought she seemed offended on Jack’s behalf.

‘Poor Jack,’ Margaret said. ‘You’re such a heartless thing, Annie.’

‘Is there any tea in the pot, Auntie? I’m dropping,’ Annie said, secretly feeling sorry she had been so brusque. But walk out with Jack Sidwell? she thought scornfully as she went to pour her tea. Never in a month of Sundays – she had far more important things to do – she was on piecework!