Her sturdy legs planted slightly apart, Vera surveyed her without speaking before her eyes flicked round the kitchen. To her disappointment it was as clean as a new pin, the range blackleaded, the fender gleaming and the stone flags on the floor scrubbed. Her gaze fastened on the pram in a corner of the room and in answer to the unspoken question, Rose said quietly, ‘Betsy’s sleeping in her cot upstairs.’

Davey’s brown eyes had always been as warm as hot chocolate but Vera’s were as dense and dark as bullets as she stared coldly at Rose. ‘It’s about the bairn I’ve come.’

‘Betsy?’ This was the first time the family had acknowledged her existence and shock had Rose stammering as she said, ‘Wh–what about her?’

Before Rose’s lips had settled on the last word, Vera was speaking. ‘You’ll have to get work now, won’t you.’

For a wild moment Rose thought Davey’s mother was offering to have Betsy while she went out to work, but then she was swiftly disabused of this idea when the woman went on. ‘It’s no place for the bairn now, here with you. She needs a proper home and a mam an’ da. You won’t be able to keep this place going and provide for her.’

The two women faced each other across the kitchen, one figure small and squat and the other tall and willowy. Rose didn’t repeat her offer for Davey’s mother to be seated nor did she make any retort, but she waited, knowing more was coming.

‘Our Phyllis and Jack are prepared to take the bairn on and bring her up as their own as long as you clear off somewhere and keep away for good.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. The bairn would have a good home and be brought up proper, and there’d be me an’ Harold an’ Jack’s mam an’ da an’ all, as well as Jack’s sisters and brothers and their families. She’d have cousins to play with—’

‘They wouldn’t be her cousins. Jack is no relation to Betsy and neither is his family.’ Rose heard herself speaking the words and marvelled at how calm they sounded considering how she was feeling inside.

‘The bairn wouldn’t understand that.’

‘So let me get this right.’ Rose, her voice still level and quiet, said, ‘You are suggesting that my daughter would be brought up never knowing anything about her real parents?’

‘Not quite.’ Vera’s gaze was narrowed. ‘When she was old enough she’d be told she is my son’s child.’

‘And me? Her mother?’

Whether Vera was fooled by Rose’s apparent restrained demeanour or whether she didn’t understand the cruelty of her next words wasn’t clear. ‘She’d be told you were dead, of course.’

Now Rose’s voice did rise as she said, ‘Get out of my house.’