‘Definitely not. My Sheila would have my guts for garters,’ he says, to general laughter, and Vee, hardly realising she is doing so, raises the viewfinder to her eye and takes a photograph. She’s not sure why, because she shouldn’t be putting a man in the middle of this, really. Waste of a shot. Still, she’s caught the moment. She winds the film on. ‘Still not sorted, then?’ the postman continues.

‘Nah. They said we was irresponsible, and they said they’d have an inquiry. We said we’ll come back to work when we’re getting recognition for our skill.’

‘Well, good for you, girls,’ the postman says, ‘so this is an official picket?’

‘Course it is. We know how to do things proper. That’s why your car seat never comes apart at the seams.’ Everyone laughs at this, and Vee wants to drop her camera, to join in, but if there’s one useful thing she’s learned at the paper it’s if you want to get a decent photo, keep your distance. ‘You’re not here to be one of them,’ George, the senior photographer at the Echo, told her, the first time he took her out on a job, ‘you’re here to be the only one of you.’

‘In that case, my fellow workers,’ the postman says, ‘it looks like these here letters won’t be getting to your bosses today.’ And he returns the bundle of envelopes to his bag and turns away. Vee clicks the shutter. She’s got the shot that matters. It’s not always obvious to the eye, but she feels it in her gut. And even though, if this image is ever published, the quality of it will be terrible – nothing looks good on newsprint – she will know that it’s good. Really good.

‘Oi.’ It takes her a moment to realise that the woman striding along the road is calling to her. There is a solid fierceness in her walk that tells her to keep her camera lowered. Two other women are close behind.

‘Hello,’ Vee says, and holds out a hand. She’s surprised to see it isn’t shaking, ‘Veronica Moon.’

The stranger’s hands are in her dungaree pockets, so Vee drops her arm. Dungarees! She’s never seen them in real life. Not on a woman, anyway. ‘Does that mean anything? Am I supposed to know who you are?’ Her voice has the confident sort of non-accent that Vee wishes for. It’s not as posh as the radio but there’s no trace of where she has come from in it. That has to be useful.