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finish until five. He wasn't a satisfactory man, not like old Herbert who had died last year; he would stay till all hours and not demand a penny extra. But then, what did it matter, what did anything matter but this present situation? She didn't know how she was going to face these people, or what their reactions would be.
    If she were to say to them half the things Gran had said they would likely turf her out into the street. She'd had quite a time stopping her Gran from accompanying them.
    42.
    She glanced at her daughter. She was walking with her head well up, that defiant look on her face she had come to know more and more of late. She was a bonny girl; she would grow into a beautiful woman. Oh God! Why had this to happen to her? She should have spoken to her about things. She hadn't talked to her about personal matters since she started to menstruate. And that was three years ago. But she had seemed so level-headed, so sure of herself. What was she talking about? What was she thinking? Youth was never level-headed or sure of itself. Youth was a time of false values, false urges, wild desires that drove you to prove that your night longings could be eased by a piece of paper on which you wrote your name in front of a man. Youth gave you no inkling that you would regret it for the rest of your life.
    But oh! didn't you soon learn. Well, knowing this, why was she
    pressing her daughter into marriage?
    No; this was a different kettle of fish altogether. She herself had hung on till she was married. But her daughter hadn't waited and there was a penalty to be paid for such haste: an illegitimate child.
    It wasn't to be thought of. But then, there was a point: if she had liked the boy well enough to allow what had happened to happen, and not only once, then she would likely settle down with him and live a normal, happily married life. Were there any normal married
    couples?
    Yes, yes. She nodded to herself. There was May and Frank next door.
    She'd always envied them their happiness. Then there had been her grandmother and grandfather. They had been close until the day he died. But what about her own mother and father? Well, could anybody be really happy with her mother? Her whining would get on anybody's nerves. From an early age she had both loved and pitied her father; as she grew older she had wondered why he stayed with her mother. Could he have loved her? Could a man love a woman who lives simply for her ailments, most of them imaginary? Her mother had had that one
    operation in her thirties and from then on had taken on a career of sickness.
    Look at herself, too.
    She couldn't bear to look at herself and the life she was leading, because it wasn't life.
    "Mam. What if he won't marry me?"
    Yes, what if he refused to marry her? Oh, she couldn't bear even to think of the result of that situation: her schoolgirl daughter with an illegitimate baby and having to live in such a house with four females, perhaps five, depending on the baby's sex, and Len. Oh, no!
    There had to be a solution to this situation, and the only one was marriage and
    getting them set up somewhere on their own.
    She ignored her daughter's question.
    As the bus took them past Bog's End, past the bottom of Brampton Hill and to the new council estate, she wished they had come by car;
    although her driving a car, she imagined, would have emphasised their superior position and so would preclude his understanding that he or his parents would have to support the child.
    Peggy rose first to get off the bus, and as she followed her. Lizzie wondered how she and the boy had first met, because he would have gone to a school nearby, whereas Peggy went to Brixton Road Girls' High School. Of course there were the clubs and there was the school dance at Christmas. Here she recalled that Peggy had been very excited after the dance. She'd had a lovely time, she'd said. Yes, the school
    dance.
    She had invited Charlie to accompany her as her partner, but at no time had