Bessie sat up in her bed as Philip knocked on her bedroom door and entered quickly. He pulled the clear glass bottle from under his T-shirt. His face was puce, and she suspected it might have been this way since making his purchase of booze at the corner shop and then cycling home with it tucked inside the waistband of his jeans, embarrassed, as he knew the reason for acquiring the alcohol.

‘Here you are,’ he said, avoiding eye contact with her.

‘Thank you, Philip. I couldn’t have gone.’

The truth was, she was not only reluctant to attempt to buy alcohol illegally, but also she did not want to bump into Mrs Hicks or any member of the chattering club where she was the main topic, if Tony Dunlop had been as good as his word.

‘What does it do?’ She held the cool glass in the flat of her palm and looked up at her clever brother.

‘I think it makes you miscarry. I read it once. You sit in a hot bath and drink gin, and that can be enough.’

‘Will it hurt?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘What will happen to me?’ She felt the first quake of fear.

‘I don’t know, Bessie,’ he said, sounding a little agonised.

‘I’m going to do it this morning.’ She bit her lip.

He nodded. ‘Mum and Dad’ll think you’re having a long bath to deal with your hangover. I’ll do my best to distract them.’

‘Thank you, Philip.’ It seemed like this was all she could say to him.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

Bessie nodded. ‘I’ve been awake on and off all night thinking about my options, and this feels best for me, while it’s still early days, and no one else need know.’ Her tears fell at her decision, which she knew was at once brave and cowardly, a pre-emptive strike.

‘Okay.’ He opened her bedroom door and paused, looking back at her. ‘I’ll come and check on you later. If you need anything . . .’

At the sound of him clicking the door shut, she rose slowly and put the gin on her dressing table, the scorch mark a vivid reminder of the worst day of her life. Standing sideways in front of her full-length mirror, she lifted up her nightie to gaze at her tender breasts and flat stomach. She ran her fingertips over her navel, wondering what was going on inside there.