Ruby was too tired to lift the small child, so Agnes picked her up and held her close. The familiar softness and scent of a new-born baby reminded her of Ruby all those years ago. ‘You’ve gorra gran’ that loves you, my sweet,’ she whispered, ‘and a mam who will always be there for you.’

When she looked back at the bed, the exhausted Ruby was asleep and Agnes stood there gazing down at her daughter and listening to her soft breathing. The sibilant sounds brought comfort to her soul.

However, the moment was shattered when Ronnie opened the bedroom door.

‘Do you want to ’old y’daughter?’ asked Agnes, a little reluctantly.

‘Bit later, when ah get back.’

‘Get back? Where y’goin’?’

‘Pub o’ course, t’celebrate … it’s tradition,’ and Ronnie clattered down the stairs.

Anne Watson was sitting next to an inquisitive Rosie Finn and an intrigued Phoebe Fawnswater at lunchtime.

‘What’s that, Miss?’ asked Rosie.

‘It’s my engagement ring.’

‘What’s it for?’

‘It’s to show I’ve promised to marry my boyfriend.’

‘When are you getting married, Miss?’ asked Phoebe.

‘In the summer holidays.’

Rosie considered the implications. ‘And will you have a pretty dress?’

‘Yes, I shall – a lovely white dress.’

‘I went to my aunty’s wedding and she wore a white dress,’ said Phoebe. ‘Why are they always white?’

Anne considered this for a moment, seeking a suitable response. ‘I think it’s because white is the colour of happiness and your wedding day is the happiest day of your life.’

Phoebe frowned. ‘So why does the groom wear black?’

Good question, thought Anne.

When Ronnie walked into The Royal Oak he was disappointed that the tap room was almost empty. A few retired farmers were sitting at the table next to the bay window drinking bottles of stout while playing a fives-and-threes dominoes game. Clarence Higginbottom pulled Ronnie the obligatory free pint to ‘wet the baby’s head’ and Ronnie raised his glass. ‘To m’daughter,’ he said.

One of the farmers looked up. ‘A daughter? ’Ard luck. Y’need sons t’earn money.’

There was unanimous approval among the domino players and they returned to their game shaking their heads as if there had been a death in the village.

‘’Ello, Ronnie, ah saw y’comin’ in.’ It was Thelma, the local flirt.

‘’Ello, Thelma. Ruby’s just ’ad a baby – little girl.’

‘Well, y’better buy me a drink t’celebrate. Ah’ll ’ave a Cinzano Bianco – ah like them erotic drinks. Remember, Ronnie, y’bought me one in Morecambe.’