On Molly’s frantic instruction, little Sal had raced out of the house to fetch Tilly Watson from next door. In a surprisingly short time she was back, with the small wiry figure in tow. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Molly gal!’ gasped Tilly, one look confirming her suspicions. ‘You don’t give a body much warning, do you, eh?’ At once she ushered little Sal from the room, saying kindly, ‘It’s all right, sunshine… your mam’ll be all right. Take yourself off to my place, child, and tell Joey to give you the eggs I’ve left on my plate – seeing as you’ve dragged me away from ’em and they’ll be cold and dried up when I get back.’ Enthused by the prospect of an egg butty, little Sal promptly forgot about the ‘babby’ she had already claimed for her own, and went skipping out of the door, only to pop her head back round it a moment later to remind Tilly, ‘You have to fetch me when the babby comes… you won’t forget, will you?’

‘No, no, Sal! Tilly won’t forget.’ Molly struggled on to the bed, gasping hard when the squeezing pain in her back became unbearable. ‘Go on… go on, child!’

Sensing something beyond her understanding, and reassured by her mammy’s promise – although puzzled why it should be given with such impatience – Sal quickly set off again. But not before she had discreetly glanced back at the sight of Tilly Watson’s bedraggled brown head bent over the bed, and her thin bony hands busying themselves in helping Molly out of her garments. Sal didn’t like that. Not at all, and, shutting out the image of her mammy’s face all twisted and uncomfortable, she went on her way, her blue eyes thoughtful and a look of concern on her small, heart-shaped face. She would have a word or two to tell that naughty babby when it came, hurting her mammy like that!

At the open door of Tilly Watson’s house Sal paused, listening to the crescendo of noise emanating from inside, where the three younger Watson brood were indulging in a free-for-all, or, as Tilly called it when the three of them began wrestling in earnest, ‘having a bloody bundle!’ For a moment Sal was tempted to leave. However, the thought of that fried egg just sitting on Tilly’s plate and waiting for her was too much. Anyway, above the squeals and shouts could be heard the excited cries of little Peggy and the firm voice of Joey Watson, who had taken over the role of father since the demise of Tilly’s husband. So, knowing that Joey would soon have things under control, little Sal entered the house, praying that none of the other children had pinched Tilly’s precious egg, because if they had, she might just be ready to punch somebody on the nose and start them fighting all over again!

From across the road, and being careful to stay well out of sight, Jack-the-Lad watched the frail-looking girl go into Tilly Watson’s house and close the door behind her. Chuckling softly, he circled the woman’s waist with his arm and pulling her into him, he said quietly but with some amusement, ‘That little lady ain’t half as delicate as yer might think… and when it comes to her mam and young Peggy, just let anybody try and hurt ’em. Then you’d see what a little tiger that Sal can be.’