‘You shouldn’t smoke if you’re drinking,’ said Angel. ‘You’ve burned the couch again.’

‘Oh. Have I?’ Dora came and leaned against the sink, arms folded, watching Angel at work. ‘Good day at school then, honey?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ Horrible.

‘What did you do?’

‘Oh. English. History. Stuff.’ Angel put the last cup on the draining board and emptied the bowl. She picked up the tea towel and started drying the crocks. She didn’t care about school. All she ever cared about when she was there was getting back here, and checking that her mother hadn’t had some fresh disaster. Broken something in a drunken rage. Or had another screaming match with Uncle Donny and got upset and started out on one of her big binges. ‘Mum . . .’

‘What, darlin’?’ asked Dora.

Angel put down the tea cloth. Looked her mother in the eye. She could see that Dora hadn’t slept off this latest binge yet. She was still slurring her words, still tottery on her feet, but suddenly Angel felt that she had to say this.

‘Did you know Uncle Donny’s married?’

Dora was staring at her. ‘You what?’ she choked out.

‘Someone told me today. At school. That he was married.’

Dora took a lurching step back, as if Angel had struck her. ‘Well they’re lying,’ she said, her head weaving from side to side in that drunken way of hers. It broke Angel’s heart, every time she saw it.

‘No. They’re not,’ said Angel. She’d only met her cousin Tommy for the first time today, but her summing-up of him had been swift. She didn’t think he was a liar. If anything, she reckoned he was the type who spurted out the truth too readily, not pausing to dress it up as most people would.

‘Yes they fucking are!’ Dora was half-laughing, as if this was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. ‘Who told you such nonsense?’

‘Tommy. Aunt Lil’s son.’

‘What? You met him?’ Dora’s laughter died out.

‘He’s at my school, Mum. He told me who he was, that him and me are family.’

‘You don’t want to have nothing to do with that lot,’ said Dora. ‘They hate us, Angel. They’re all bloody mad.’

‘They been saying the same about you, Tommy said.’

‘He’s the one who’s told you this bullshit about Donny then?’

‘Yeah. He is.’

‘Well he’s a fucking liar,’ said Dora, snatching up one of the plates and smashing it on the floor.

Angel shrank back. ‘Don’t, Mum.’

‘He ain’t married. No way!’ Dora yelled, and smashed another plate. Downstairs started hitting the ceiling with a broom. Every sound they made up here, there they were down below, tap-tap-tapping away. ‘Shut up your fucking noise!’ yelled Dora at the floor, knowing they could hear every word.

‘Mum, stop it!’ pleaded Angel.

But Dora was off on one of her rages again. Crying, yelling, she really let go. The cups went, the saucers. Angel left her raving mother there in the kitchenette and went into the box room – once her nursery, now her bedroom – closing the door behind her. She flung her satchel on the bed and picked up her little red transistor radio, turning it on, turning up the volume to drown out the noise from Dora. Georgie Fame was singing the ‘Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde’. Leaving the radio on, she went over to the table with her sewing machine set up on it. Uncle Donny had promised her some sky-blue satin for her birthday, make herself a nice new dress with it.