Molly resented the older woman’s complacency, although she realized that Tilly Watson could not be expected to understand her feelings in this matter, which was so close to Molly’s heart. After all, she told herself, how could Tilly understand, when all of her own children were so vigorously healthy. All the same, Molly did not want to discuss the issue so openly in front of the girls. ‘You two… would you like to go and play in the yard with the others?’ she asked. When they both eagerly agreed and ran off towards the scullery, where the steps led down to the yard below, Molly was quiet for a while, holding the boy up in her arms and watching with pride when he pressed his feet to her knees and tried unsuccessfully to draw himself up. It disturbed her to see how unbalanced and difficult his stance was. She did not fool herself that he would ever be able to walk in a natural manner, because it was painfully obvious that whilst his right leg was developing normally, the left one remained both stunted in growth and twisted away from his body. The foot was perfect in shape, but bent at a peculiar angle, so that when he pushed it against her lap it was not with the sole but with the inner ankle. To see this delightful and happy child so deformed was a great source of distress to Molly. She refused to believe, as Tilly did, that ‘there’s nothing to be done’. She said as much now.

‘Stop fooling yourself!’ Tilly Watson regretted not having snuffed the child’s miserable life out when she had the opportunity. ‘Look at yourself… you’re a young woman with no fellow, and three children looking to you for all their needs! You’ve told me yourself that you’re a two-week behind with paying the rent.’ She wagged a finger at Molly and, scowling, said, ‘You listen to me, dearie. That landlord of ours is a mean and moody old sod… what! ’E’d have you out on your ear soon as look at you! Come to your senses, Molly… don’t be a bloody fool. There’s more important things to think about than that there twisted limb.’ She pointed an accusing finger at the boy, who was playfully turning somersaults in Molly’s arms; she thought the sight of his deformed leg hideous. ‘To my mind, it’s more important to have food in your larder and coal on your fire of a winter’s night.’

Molly gave no reply. There would be no use, because no one could understand how she felt. Not Tilly, not anyone. She changed the subject. ‘So you will keep an eye on Peggy and the boy? Just for a few hours, while I see if there’s money to be made in town.’ As usual, Tilly Watson did not hesitate. ‘Of course… I don’t even notice them amongst my own brats. I expect you’re after a few flowers, or an odd job or two, eh?’ She evidently approved. ‘Every shilling keeps the roof over your head and fills the belly,’ she said. ‘That’s what’s important, dearie… not trying to change the body the good Lord sees fit to give us.’ She collected the child from Molly’s arms. She would not have been squeamish in pinching the breath from its body soon after it was born, but unfortunately, the opportunity had been short-lived. So, now the child was here, and claiming a place in the world, there was no point in harbouring regrets. ‘They’ll be fine with me, as well you know,’ she told Molly, ‘and you’re very welcome to leave little Sal alongside them… that eldest of yours is a godsend. You’ll not be surprised when I tell you that she organizes my lot, with the force of a sergeant-major!’