‘But you did survive, precious hen,’ Ma would say, stroking Joan’s cheeks, ‘for God had already taken three of my bairns born before the two of you, and He had taken enough. You and I slept off that fever together, and after three days we were both well enough to take milk and a bit of broth.’

And then Joan would likely say something like, ‘Can I have a bit of broth now, Ma, is there any in the pot?’ and Ma would reply, ‘Aye, Maggie’ll fetch it, won’t you, Maggie?’

Joan would always eye me as she let Ma stroke her cheeks – a look that said, I’m the favourite. I hated her for it, yet I wanted into that embrace. I didn’t want to fetch a cup of broth, I wanted to dive right into the middle of them and feel them stroke my cheeks. I never did, though, and stood awkwardly watching them; and for that they thought me surly, until Ma would say, ‘Fetch the broth, hen, for the wee one, and put the kettle on for all of us.’

So from birth Joan was doted on by Ma and even a bit by Da, which meant that as a young bairn she became the dreadfulest telltale, who would run to Ma with all manner of trifles that I had done this or that, and we spent all our days squabbling and our nights pinching each other; we must have driven Ma and Da quite mad, for when the rows erupted, they were nasty. Joan would shriek and I would shriek back, and Da would always blame me, saying as I was older I should know better, and he would smack me around the head and threaten me with the workhouse at Eskmills, where girls like me could lose a finger easy as anything in the big machinery.

It was a horrible life, really. But I dare say there were horrible lives being lived up and down the coast, between the vicious sea and the loom of poverty, if you did not work all the hours God sent. So we had things to keep us going. Da had his drink. Ma had her gloves. Joan sang in the fishwives’ choir and tripped out to practice twice a week, with Ma polishing Joan’s face clean with a cloth and making sure her little boots were shiny too. And I had my dreams, which back then were filled not with snakes, but with plans of how I might escape it all.