Amy stared at her doubtfully. They had stopped walking and Betsy stood between them, looking enquiringly up at her mother. ‘It’d be a lot of work, lass, and you could get loads left at the end of the day an’ have to sell it for next to nothing.’

‘That might happen at first but I’ll give good value for money and I certainly won’t add chalk to my flour to make it go further.’

‘You’re so young. Most of them stallholders are getting on a bit.’

‘Not all of them.’

‘And how will you get your stuff to the market once you’ve cooked it?’

‘The same way as those others do, I suppose. On a handcart or something?’

‘What about in the winter when there’s a foot of snow?’

‘Amy.’

‘I’m only saying, that’s all, lass.’

‘This is the answer to what I can do, I know it is. I’ve been praying for something that means I can keep Betsy with me all the time and I could, doing this. I’d be my own boss in a way, wouldn’t I.’

‘But for a bit lass . . .’ Amy’s voice trailed away. ‘You don’t know anything about running a market stall.’

‘Everyone has to start somewhere. The thing is, Amy, since Davey died I’ve felt like I’m drowning in deep water and trying to fight a current that wants to drag me under. I can’t explain it but I need to do this, however it turns out. If I try and fail so be it, but I’ll do everything within my power to make it work.’

Amy was shielding her eyes from the bright sun and now she smiled. ‘All right, I won’t say another word if you’re set on it but I’d get somewhere to rent close to the market. That way you won’t have such a drag with your stuff.’

Rose nodded. She would if she could. She knew a number of houses in Consett were owned by the Consett Iron Company who kept them for their workers, but there were private landlords too and folk who took in lodgers and so on. Now she knew the way forward she’d start looking for somewhere straight away.