Jed grinned again. ‘Listen, boy, your mother likes her way of life. She’s one of the only Toms . . . I mean, working women . . . I know who loves her job.’

George closed his eyes. Jed brought men to the house for Nancy and then sat drinking downstairs while she plied her trade upstairs. The last man Nancy had had was a big Irishman who had made George part of his arrangement. Jed, in fairness, never tried anything like that on. When Nancy had mentioned it he had gone mad, saying that she was unnatural. George had quite liked Jed after that. He seemed to have taken over where Edith had left off.

‘Think about what I’m saying, son. You got a good little job, try and get yourself a room somewhere.’

Neither was aware that Nancy was standing in the kitchen listening to the conversation, having forgotten her own purse, which was stuffed full of money. Money that Jed knew about but couldn’t find. She had come back to the house and heard everything. Her face set in a deep frown, she went out of the back door quietly and off to the chip shop.

George lay in bed listening to the quietness. He was tired out but couldn’t sleep. Jed’s words were echoing in his head. If he left home and got a room he could have a life of his own. He fantasised about having a little place with nice wallpaper and a record player. He saw it in his mind as if it was real. A clean candlewick bedspread on the double bed. A stack of records by the record player and an electric fire to keep him warm. Maybe a small wardrobe with nice clothes and shoes in it. And mats either side of the bed. In one corner of the room was a comfortable chair, with his favourite books on a coffee table alongside. He was so deep in his fantasy that he didn’t hear his bedroom door open. When Nancy sat on the edge of his bed he was startled.

‘Georgie boy?’ Her voice was low and soft.

He didn’t answer.

Nancy turned on the lamp by his bed and looked down at him, her face wreathed in smiles. She took a ten-shilling note from her dressing-gown pocket and placed it on the night table.

‘That’s for you, Georgie. Fifteen bob a week should be enough for your housekeeping. I don’t like the thought of you walking to work like that, especially in this weather.’