‘They’re produced by Charles Dickens,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard of him. He’s famous for his novels. Mr Mason said I should try to get hold of one.’

May preferred to sketch during her free time but sometimes Gus read aloud to her, and in this way they both followed the serialisation of Our Mutual Friend. It was a lot harder going than Black Bess, or Knights of the Road, but Gus was determined to persevere to the conclusion.

May was very happy with these domestic evenings, but as the weeks passed she detected an increasing restlessness in her brother. Sometimes he would break off in the middle of a sentence and wander round the room, aimlessly picking things up and putting them down. Then he would yawn and stretch and go back to his reading.

Gus continued to play football on Sunday afternoons and May continued to meet Armando.

One Sunday he surprised her by saying, ‘My mother asks if you will come to tea this afternoon. She would like to meet you properly.’

May accepted, with some trepidation, but she was received cordially enough. It was after tea that the purpose of the invitation became clear.

‘So, May. Tell me, are you devout?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘Are you a good Christian?’

‘Yes, I hope so.’ It was not something to which she had ever given much thought. She had been taught her prayers and the Bible stories in the workhouse, but it had been a matter of routine, like learning to read.

‘Do you go to church?’

‘Oh yes, every Sunday.’ That was routine too, expected of any employee of Freeman’s.

‘And which church do you go to?’

‘St Barnabus, in Parliament Street.’

‘Ah. You are not a Catholic, then.’

‘Er, no. I’m afraid not.’

‘I see.’ It was said quite lightly and that was the end of the inquisition but she could tell from Armando’s expression that it had made him uneasy.

* * *

Gus was trying to dispel an increasing sense of dissatisfaction with his current situation. He found most of the work at the White Star office boring and it was not helped by the sense that Mr Lloyd was constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for him to make a mistake.

Initially he had enjoyed being at Nan’s house with May. It offered a warmth and security and a sense of belonging that he had never had before. Nan had got used to his presence and never suggested that he should move out. But as the weeks became months he found himself asking, ‘Is this all? There must be more to life than this’. He could not see any possibilities of advancement in the work he did, and the cosy evenings at home made him feel like an old man.