Within a minute or two her mam had finished laying the fires and Matthew was at the front door. Once he began to load his big handcart Betsy put on her coat and scarf and her blue woollen hat with a pom-pom on top. It was still only half-past seven and the December sky was heavy and low, a few wispy snowflakes drifting in the air. It had snowed every day the week before and the snow was still banked up high in places, but it was dirty now and uninviting. She liked it when it was fresh but when it got mucky it was just cold and slippery.

She glanced down at her new snug boots with their sheepskin lining. They kept her feet as warm as toast. Poor Flora and Sally had holes in theirs that let the snow in, and they’d showed her their chilblains the other day which had looked so sore.

Betsy sighed. Flora had whispered that their granny who lived in Shotley Bridge had turned up last weekend with a new pair of boots for both of them, but their mam had made the twins take them off as soon as their granny had gone home and taken them to the pawnshop. She had been indignant on her friends’ behalf, but when she had told her mother about it after she had got home from school, her mam had shaken her head and said, ‘Poor woman.’ She hadn’t understood that. Surely it was Flora and Sally who were deserving of pity?

‘Ready, hinny?’ Rose came into the kitchen, tweaking the pom-pom on Betsy’s hat and as the child grinned at her she thought, as she did many times, how lucky she was to have her. As sweet as a nut, that’s what Amy and her parents always said about Betsy, and they were right. Poor Amy . . . Rose’s smile faded. Since her friend had married her Frank she’d had one miscarriage after another, the last one being only two weeks ago. And there was her sister Daisy about to deliver twins. It was so unfair. Amy and Frank would be wonderful parents and they doted on Betsy even more than their nieces.