‘Yeah, well, it’s been a long time since then,’ she replied. ‘So what you doing ’ere?

‘We come to see the nippers,’ said Stanley, dunking a biscuit into his tea and just catching it in his mouth before it fell apart and dropped into his beard. ‘Now the war’s over, we thought we’d help yer get ’em settled back in the Smoke before we go back to sea.’

‘They ain’t going to London,’ she replied firmly. ‘They’re staying ’ere with the Johnsons.’

‘That ain’t right,’ muttered Mick. ‘They was only supposed to be ’ere temporary like. It’s time for ’em to go back ’ome and be with family again.’

‘There ain’t no ’ome to go to, Mick,’ she replied, battling to keep her patience. ‘Mum, Sis and Dad was bombed out during the Blitz and lived out of suitcases until they was killed in them flats.’ She took a sharp breath. ‘As fer family, there’s just us – and we’re strangers.’

‘Yeah, we know about Mum and Dad and Sis,’ said Stanley, dunking another biscuit and losing half of it in his tea. ‘But Mrs Reilly told us you was getting married to that fireman, and ’e’s got a flat what goes with his new job. Walthamstow ain’t the East End, but it’ll do, I suppose,’ he added, chasing the floating bits of soggy biscuit with a spoon.

‘Stop doing that,’ she snapped, snatching the spoon from him. ‘It ain’t polite.’

Stanley tipped his chair onto its back legs, making them creak under his weight. ‘Get you,’ he sneered. ‘Since when did you care about what’s polite?’

‘Since I been living with Peggy Reilly,’ she retorted. ‘And fer your information, Andy and I ain’t taking the kids with us. They’re staying ’ere so Mr and Mrs Johnson can adopt ’em.’

Stanley’s chair righted itself with a thud and Mick’s scraped on the floor as he leapt to his feet and leaned over the table. ‘No one’s adopting anyone,’ he roared. ‘Them kids are our blood and we ain’t signing them away.’

‘Mick’s right,’ said Stanley. ‘And if you know what’s good for yer, you’ll listen and listen good.’ He stabbed a meaty finger on the table to emphasise each word. ‘Them kids belong to us. And we’re keeping ’em.’

Ivy stiffened her spine and refused to be bullied. ‘You mean you want me to keep ’em,’ she retorted. ‘And I ain’t doing it. They ain’t bags of spuds to be owned and passed around, and besides, I already promised I’d sign the adoption papers.’ She could see the storm brewing in their eyes and leaned forward to make her own point clear.