Alice did not speak, though words crammed her mouth. Five years, such a very long time and such very different lives they had lived in that time, so that Alice found herself all at once filled to bursting with stories about the life she now led, the place she now lived, of the Dunlevys for whom she worked. But she said nothing. And it was because of her good fortune. Because God had seen fit to pluck Alice Nimrod from the life she had been born to and drop her into a better place, and He had not done the same for Milli.

It hung between them, Alice’s good fortune.

‘You took this, dint you, from the people you work for?’ said Milli, indicating the scraps of leftover food. She spoke as someone afraid to be overheard. Or someone who did not wish to know the answers to her questions.

Alice nodded. Yes, she had taken it. And why should she be ashamed? The food was there to be stolen and no one would notice if it was gone or not. (Perhaps Mrs Flynn did notice; certainly she gave Alice a shrewd look every now and then. But that was all she did, for what servant wanted to know another’s private business? In any case, Mrs Flynn took leftovers home to her own family.) But Alice had lately discovered that it was hard to help someone who had less than yourself, though you might think it would be an easy thing to do, and she did not understand why this was so.

‘I have some money too,’ she said now, and she scrabbled in her other pocket and laid a meagre pile of coins on the table.

The shame of the little pile was great and Alice sat in misery.

But Milli paused with the potato long enough to flick her fingers through the pile, to make a speedy reckoning, then sweep the lot off the table and into her pocket. Gone.

‘You always did have sharp fingers,’ said Milli, her voice softening and a memory flashing across her face. ‘Remember the baker’s on Crown Street? All them buns you nicked and that old baker never the wiser. You was like lightning.’

‘Mum used to say, “Never ask where a thing comes from for it is sure to disappear if you do”!’ said Alice, the brief light of remembrance shining in her own face, and for a moment they were sisters once more.

But Milli heaved herself to her feet, shifting her bulk with a groan, repositioning herself on the rickety little chair into a more comfortable position, and the shadows rose up and consumed them. The baby would come any day and what then? Alice felt the hopelessness swell and surge about them. Perhaps the baby would die.