How do you tell your son that he’s fatherless and homeless, that his grandparents don’t approve of his mother? I have to be strong for both of us, you see. I think we should stay right here in this room at Braeside where Leithy can look after us both and I’ll earn my keep carrying trays to the invalids. Another pair of hands would be appreciated here. I can’t sleep for thinking it all over. It’s so wonderful to be a mother, to hold my own flesh tight to my breast all night in case he gets cold. Leithy says I should rest and put him down in his canvas cot by my side. But the cot is cold and damp, he might catch a chill. What does she know about babies? She has never married. My ‘Ray of sunshine’ is not like the other babies in the house, he is fatherless and homeless and I must be strong for both of us.

I wish you could see us here, in the pink, in a room overlooking the bay. It’s like being on holiday: meals brought to my bed. There is colour everywhere, blues, golds and wonderful red curtains, shiny brocade faded to rose pink at the edges where the sunshine has burned through. I sit by the firelight imagining us in our own place. The red is so warm, it fires me with plans. I have to be strong for both of us so, you see, Mrs Bloom, how can I go back to Brigg Farm when there’s so much to organise for little Ray? His bedding, a pram and canopy, a go-chair. I have no time to work. Isn’t it exciting? It takes up all my time just thinking what to do next. I am drinking gallons of milk like a good girl, my breasts need to be full night and day. They are huge and sore and weep for baby so I try and sneak him into my nightie when they’re not looking.