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other sensation she could put a name to.  
    In the next few minutes before Davey left and Rosie took her mother a cup of tea the conversation was of an inconsequential nature, but he touched her face lightly as he made his goodbyes at the back door, and again there was a promise in the hazel eyes that made her tingle long after he had gone.  
     
    ‘I don’t want to go to Mrs McLinnie’s, I want to stay here an’ look at the picture book Mabel Fanshawe lent me. Mrs McLinnie’s house smells.’  
    ‘You are going.’ Rosie’s voice was terse. She had had more than enough of Molly in the last fraught ten minutes to last her all day, and her sister had managed to dispel the last lingering thrill of Davey’s unexpected visit with her tantrums. ‘Now get dressed like I told you and help Hannah to button her boots, I’ve brought the hook up for you.’  
    ‘I won’t.’ Molly’s head was up, her lower lip thrust out. ‘Not if you say we’ve got to go next door. ’Tisn’t fair .’  
    ‘Then you will go to school.’  
    ‘ I won’t! ’ The last was a shout.  
    ‘One more “I won’t” and you’ll feel my hand on your backside.’  
    ‘Huh!’ Molly’s deep sea-green eyes were hostile as they stared into Rosie’s, and she shook the mass of golden-brown ringlets that fell to below her tiny waist as she said again, ‘Huh! You’re not Mam, an’ you’re not that much older’n me,’ before pouting peevishly.  
    How could someone who looked so angelic, so ethereally lovely, be so awkward and stubborn on occasion? Rosie asked herself as she stared back into her sister’s angry face. But a large part of this was her mam’s fault. Her mother had consistently given in to Molly’s tantrums since the child was a toddler, so proud had she been of the small golden-haired daughter she called her ‘wee princess’. Well, the wee princess was going to have to knuckle down to it like the rest of them. There was nothing else for it.  
    ‘No, I am not your mam,’ Rosie agreed grimly, ‘but until Mam is feeling better I’m as good as. Now get dressed.’  
    ‘I like Mrs McLinnie.’ Hannah, who had been sitting in a corner of the three-quarter size iron bed she now shared with Molly - Rosie having steeled herself to remove the dividing curtain and take up residence in the other bed the week before - had noticed the glint in her oldest sister’s eyes, and recognized there could only be one outcome to this particular battle of wills. ‘She always gives us lardy cake an’ stickjaw.’ The plain little face beamed at the thought.  
    ‘Aye, well I don’t know if there’ll be any cake or taffy today, Hannah, but you be quick, there’s a good lassie.’  
    Rosie glanced at Molly’s grumpy face as she spoke and as a dart of compassion pierced her irritation - this was a bewildering and difficult time for all of them - she bent and hugged Molly to her for a brief moment, feeling a return pressure of thin little arms as Molly leant her head against her sister’s chest. Meanwhile Hannah was glowing with self-righteous obedience as she slipped from beneath the coarse brown blankets and pulled her calico-topped petticoat over the linen smock she slept in, her fingers hastily reaching for her woollen dress as the icy chill in the room hit warm flesh.  
    Hannah’s shiver prompted Rosie to put Molly from her as she said, ‘Come on now, get dressed with Hannah, it’s freezing in here and the kitchen is nice and warm,’ her voice soft and persuasive.  
    ‘All right, but I still don’t want to go to Mrs McLinnie’s.’ Rosie left them to it, but before going downstairs she popped her head round the door of her mother’s room. Jessie was lying in the same position she had been in earlier when Rosie had taken her the cup of tea, her body straight and still under the thick faded eiderdown and her face staring up at the patchy ceiling, her eyes unblinking. But she had drunk the tea, Rosie noticed.