But Leonie puts a hand on her arm, and then turns to her friends with the fierceness that was in her stride as she walked over. She says, ‘Come on. We support our sisters. Everyone starts somewhere.’ Looking back at Vee, she smiles, and her brown eyes grow warm, ‘Why don’t we split, and have a drink? I’ll catch you up on a few things.’

*

Vee assumed that by ‘drink’ Leonie meant ‘tea’ – it was barely noon when they left the picket line – but ten minutes later she finds herself in the George and Dragon. One of the panes in the door is missing, the space covered with taped-on cardboard, and the carpet is tacky underfoot. The mirror behind the bar has a crack running down the centre, which warps the faces of people waiting to be served. Leonie’s friends, who are called Bea and something beginning with F that Vee didn’t quite catch, go to sit down. Vee follows Leonie to the bar.

Before Leonie can order, the barman says, ‘We don’t serve ladies at the bar, I’m afraid.’

‘What?’ Leonie says, her voice loudening with incredulity. ‘Seriously, man? It’s 1968! Women earn their own bread, and they spend it how they want to. Christ knows, they could do with a drink in this bloody world, so your landlord needs to shape up.’

If Vee ventured a ‘bloody’ at home, Dad would tell her off for bad language, but the barman shrugs. ‘Not my rules’ – he indicates two men sitting towards the other end of the horseshoe-shaped bar, one of whom is looking on with interest – ‘but I’m sure one of these gentlemen will oblige you.’

‘What if we don’t want to be obliged?’ Leonie asks. There’s an imperious tone to her voice, now: she means business. She might be what her dad calls ‘entitled’. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Or at least went to a posh school, the sort of place with a hat as part of the uniform, like they probably do in Epping. She’s not backwards in coming forwards, that’s for sure.

‘I’d be happy to help you ladies out,’ one of the men sitting at the bar says. ‘You go and have a seat with your friends. What are you drinking? I’ll bring them over.’

‘Thank you,’ Vee says, and she smiles towards the man who’s just spoken. She’s drowned out by Leonie.

‘Have none of you heard of equal rights for women? Liberation?’

The barman has long hair, a lazy smile, and a Tyrannosaurus Rex T-shirt. He’s probably quite the local attraction. ‘Yeah, we have, but you’re in Essex now, love. Not your fancy bits of London.’