Sarah stood at the top of the road, watching the swaying figure’s progress, growing more alarmed by the second as she realised who it was. At first she thought she must be mistaken. The person was obviously drunk and it couldn’t be Tommy – he was far too young to get served in a pub. And yet the closer he got, the plainer his identity became. Sarah groaned under her breath. She couldn’t let him cope on his own. Even though she was exhausted after a shift that had gone on three hours longer than it should have, she knew it was her duty to see to him. Kitty wouldn’t be home yet and now there was no Danny to help his little brother.

Tommy looked up at her as he approached, his face confused. He squinted as if trying to make out who she was. ‘Sarah,’ he said at last.

‘Well done, Tommy,’ she said in exasperation. ‘Who did you think it was? Of course it’s me.’

‘Nurse’s coat,’ Tommy said, pointing.

‘Yes, I’ve just come from work.’ Sarah stepped closer and then recoiled at the smell of alcohol. ‘Tommy, where have you been? You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?’

‘I … I …’ Tommy appeared to be trying to explain but not getting very far.

‘Don’t bother, I can see you have been,’ Sarah said firmly. ‘Right, we’d best get you indoors. Do you have your key?’ Danny had told her they’d got one cut for his little brother for his first week at work, reasoning that if he was responsible enough to deliver telegrams, then he could be trusted with his own door key. Tommy had been proud and tied it to a cord around his neck. Now he brought it out.

‘I can do it,’ he said, but as he stumbled to the front door he missed the keyhole by a mile. He tried again but it was no good.

Sarah reached over. ‘Here. Let me.’ The sooner he was inside the better. She didn’t want anyone else to see him in this state – the likes of Vera Delaney would have a field day, and Kitty and Danny would like as not get the blame. She didn’t want that.

She took him by the shoulders and guided him into the kitchen, where she lit the gas lamp and bent to set fire to the kindling left in the grate. Tommy slumped into a chair and rested his head on the table. ‘I’m not very well,’ he moaned.

‘No, you’re drunk,’ Sarah pointed out. ‘Here, have a glass of water. Now, tell me, what’s going on?’