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joyless sex sufficiently long to produce a single child, both girls: first Sarah for Sylvia, then, much later on, Roseanne for Rita. At that point their paths diverged, for once he had carelessly provided cause, and Sylvia had divorced her husband with relief. Rita merely ignored hers. Scathingly she dubbed him ‘Nix’ even to his face. Sylvia dreamed of affairs which never materialised but earned her keep encouraging others as informal proprietor of a Jewish introduction agency: a shadchan , or matchmaker.
    Both doted on their daughters but suspected that the sentiment was not returned, though Roseanne, everyone declared, was the spitting image of her mother both in looks and personality. Rita was not sure this was a compliment and Sylvia was certain it wasn’t. Her job meant she understood such nuances.
    The sisters had many tastes in common and would frequently meet for a day out, or to keep company at the type of event where a husband was useful if he could be persuaded to appear (or wereavailable), but where a lone woman might find herself out of place. Such an occasion had just finished. The Liverpool Conservatives had welcomed their Leader and Prime Minister. In the heart of the city he had spoken to them, to a rapturous and uncritical welcome. Rita and Sylvia felt quite inspired.
    ‘I didn’t think he seemed well, I must say. I don’t think that Lady Dorothy looks after him properly,’ Rita remarked.
    ‘Not her role, is it? They have servants. She was a Cavendish, you know. Devonshires. Chatsworth. Lovely place,’ Sylvia added airily.
    ‘No, he seemed – unhappy, somehow.’ They had reached the car. Rita ruminated further as her sister fumbled in the chill air for the keys. ‘I suppose it’s understandable. President de Gaulle’s given him a real brush-off.’
    ‘What did he say to us? Oh, yes, I remember. “If the objections to our entry to the Common Market were so strong in principle, why weren’t we told right from the start?” He’s got a point.’ Sylvia opened her side, slid into her seat and reached over to unlock the passenger door.
    ‘Nothing he can do about it, though.’ Rita regarded herself as the more practical of the two. She climbed in, held her coat clear of the door and slammed it hard. ‘We’re not going to gain entry, and that’s that.’
    ‘Would you want to?’ Sylvia pulled out the choke and pumped the pedals. She hoped that she could get the engine to start from cold without too much trouble. Although plenty of fit-looking men were milling around who could be asked for a push, their jokes about women drivers would be a pain. With a grunt of satisfaction she heard the motor cough into life on the third try and revved it for a few moments. Her next car would have a heater.
    The question took Rita into realms where she preferred to be told what to think.
    ‘After everything the Germans did to us, any links with them leave me uneasy. On the other hand we know what’ll happen if they’re left to their own devices.’ Her face brightened. ‘I suppose that’s why it’s a good idea if the British join. Keep our eyes on the Krauts, and on the Frenchies. Maybe that’s what Mr Macmillan has in mind, though he couldn’t come out and say it.’
    The car moved jerkily away from the kerb. Rita had never learned to drive but had watched her husband Nix many times. She debated silently whether to point out that the handbrake, if that was what it was called, was still on, but fortunately her sister noticed in time and let it down with an unladylike expletive. The Hillman skidded briefly then settled into a slow chug over the slushy snow towards Canning Street.
    ‘You’re right, though,’ Sylvia concurred. The sisters prided themselves on not quarrelling. ‘He was peaky. Drained. Not been a good start to the year for us Tories. Let’s hope there’s no more bad news to come.’
    *
    Helen picked up her bag from the hallway and climbed the stairs to her bedroom at the back of