I waited until I was sure Mum would be in bed before I went home that night. It seemed to me that everything had changed. Not so long ago, my mother had looked after me. Now it felt as though I was responsible for looking after Mum. It was up to me to protect her. How would I do that?

That night I tossed and turned for hours before sleep came, the sheets and nightdress twisted around my legs, and when I finally slept I dreamed that Blackie was being chased by a pack of bloodthirsty greyhounds, Dad cheering them on. I begged him to stop the race, but my cries fell on deaf ears.

•

When I woke it was late morning, and the smell of frying sausages was thick in the room. I dressed and did my hair quickly, for I was starving.

Mum was at the stove and Dad sat at the table, only his legs visible, the rest of him hidden behind a newspaper. Mum was in a housedress and apron, her grey hair hanging lankly either side of her face, staring into the pan of spitting sausages. She looked up when I came in.

‘Morning, love. Did you sleep alright? You must’ve come in late last night; I’d gone to bed already.’

I kissed her dry cheek and sat across from Dad, pouring myself a mug of over-steeped tea. ‘Dot asked me over to her place after the film to look at her new dress patterns,’ I lied. ‘She’s going to let me borrow a few.’

‘Oh, did you bring them home? Can I have a look?’ Mum brought the pan over and slid some sausages onto Dad’s plate and then mine.

Dad folded up his paper, set it beside him and began slicing the bread, one slice each for Mum and me and two for himself.

‘After all that I forgot them! She’ll bring them in to work on Monday, I’m sure. She’s not nearly as forgetful as me.’

Dad paused with a forkful of sausage halfway to his mouth and looked at me through narrowed eyes. ‘How’d you get home?’

‘She walked me with her little brother, Gus.’

‘Good. I don’t like you coming home on your own after dark. All kinds of unsavoury characters out there. Most of them in uniform.’

‘And when did you get home?’ Mum asked as she lowered herself into the chair beside his. ‘I thought the races finished at nine.’

Dad finished his mouthful of food, took a swallow of tea, and wiped his mouth on his napkin before answering. ‘They do. George P. staked half a week’s wages on Julius, who won, and though the odds weren’t good he invited us to his place for a celebratory drink.’

Mum nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on her plate.

Dad looked at her. ‘What’s with you into everyone’s business?’