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to his chest.
    Mother used up her sockful of savings on Father’s funeral. She bought us all a set of black mourning clothes, even little Ada-May. I thought this a waste of money, but Mother is determined that we stay respectable.
    Our grandmother and grandfather did not want Mother to marry Father. They thought he was a wastrel, far too fond of the Demon Drink. I privately agreed, but I did not like them saying this to Mother. They came to Father’s funeral and said it all over again. They asked Mother how she was going to manage now.

    Mother said she would take in washing and do fine sewing for ladies. Grandmother and Grandfather sniffed. They took a shine to my sister Rose, who is pretty, and offered her a home with them. It will be one mouth less for you to feed, they said. Mother asked Rose if she wanted to live with Grandmother and Grandfather and she cried and said no. So Mother said we would all stick together.
    ‘You will be sticking together in the Workhouse then,’ said Grandmother.
    Mother stuck her chin in the air and said we would manage fine. But I heard her crying at night. I went to comfort her. ‘We
will
manage fine, Mother, you’ll see,’ I said.

    But it has become very hard. Mother washes all day and sews half the night. She has become very pale and thin and coughs a good deal. I am very frightened that she will get really ill in the winter if she keeps working so hard. Frank and Rose and I tried to help out this spring and summer, running errands and selling nosegays and sweet lemonade at the market. But we can only earn pennies. We need pounds to keep us out of the workhouse.
    So it is up to me. I am the oldest. I must go and earn money and send it to Mother. There is only one job a girl my age can go for. I must be a servant.

WORK
    THE PHONE RANG . I answered it automatically. Lisa and Angela are always ringing me up – and some of the other girls in our class. I don’t want to sound disgustingly boastful but I am quite popular.
    But it wasn’t a girl. It was Grandma.
    ‘Hello, Charlotte dear,’ said Grandma.
    I told a teeny white lie to Miss Beckworth. Grandma always calls me Charlotte, pursing her lips and clicking her teeth. If you’re standing right in front of her you get sprayed with spit. I found I was holding the telephone at arm’s length just in case.
    ‘Can I speak to Mummy, please?’ said Grandma.
    That’s another weird thing she does. I’ve never called Jo Mummy in my life. But Grandma always does. As if Jo is
her
Mummy. Though Grandma treats Jo as if she’s a silly little toddler, not a grown-up woman with a practically grown-up daughter of her own.
    Grandma’s voice is so loud it boomed right across the room to Jo. She shook her head in a panic. ‘Say I’m not here!’ she mouthed at me.
    She’d been crying and she’d got to that sodden stage where everything is still dribbling. She fumbled for a tissue and blew her nose dolefully.
    ‘I’m afraid Jo’s just nipped out to the shops, Grandma,’ I lied.
    ‘Don’t be silly, Charlotte. It’s half past seven in the evening,’ Grandma said briskly.
    ‘There’s heaps of shops still open round here, Grandma. There’s the video shop, and the off-licence, and the Spar down the road—’
    Grandma gave a disdainful snort. ‘Please don’t argue with me, Charlotte. I know Mummy’s there, I can hear her blowing her nose. I want to talk to her.’
    ‘Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you,’ I said – but in a little squeaky-mouse mumble as I passed the phone over.
    ‘Josephine?’
    ‘Hello, Mum,’ said Jo wearily, sniffing.
    ‘Are you crying?’ Grandma demanded.
    ‘No, I – of course I’m not crying,’ said Jo, a tear dribbling down her cheek.
    ‘Say you’ve got a cold!’ I whispered, miming a major bout of sneezing.

    ‘I’ve got a cold,’ Jo said, nodding at me gratefully. ‘Why on earth should I be crying?’
    ‘Well, you tell me,’ said Grandma. ‘Your father’s just read a most