her arm around her sister’s skinny shoulders. ‘You’re the big sister now, Josie. It’s your turn to show the little ones what’s what.’
‘I’ll try,’ Josie promised. ‘I’ll miss you, Dor,’ she whispered.
‘I’ll miss you too.’
As she looked around the shabby back yard, it began to dawn on Dora what she was leaving. Griffin Street was far from fancy. The narrow terrace of cramped houses, overshadowed by looming railway arches, had seen better days. Brickwork cracked, roofs sagged, and damp seeped through the walls.
Dora’s stepfather Alf had been all for renting them a better place when he and Rose got married. He was earning enough for them to move into one of those new blocks of flats the Corporation was building, with electricity, inside toilets, proper bathrooms and the rest of it. But Rose wouldn’t go without her mum, and Winnie had no intention of leaving the only home she’d known for fifty years.
‘I’ve lived here since I got married, and they’ll have to carry me out in my box,’ she’d declared. ‘I don’t want to live somewhere not a soul speaks to each other.’
And she was right. In spite of its faults, Griffin Street was a close-knit community of neighbours who laughed together, cried together, and saw each other through good times and bad. There was always someone to have a giggle with, a shoulder to cry on or to lend you a few bob when the rent man was due.
At least when Rose married Alf, they had been able to afford to take over the whole house, instead of making do all cramped together in a couple of rooms on the ground floor, as they had been.
It still wasn’t grand. They did all their cooking on an ancient range in the kitchen, and washed at the sink in the tiny curtained-off scullery. But it was homely, and Rose kept it like a palace. The step was whitestoned every day, the windows shone, net curtains sparkled and the house always smelt of polish.
Dora knew she’d miss it. But there was one person she wouldn’t miss.
‘Aye-aye. What’s all this, then?’ As if on cue, Alf Doyle stood in the back doorway, smiling around at the scene. He was a big man, over six foot tall, with thick black hair, a broad face and bright blue eyes.
Bea ran to him, Little Alfie toddling behind her, and he scooped them up easily, one under each arm.
‘We’re celebrating.’ Rose’s face lit up at the sight of her husband. ‘Dora’s got a place to train as a nurse.’
‘Is that right?’ Alf turned to face her, the two children still wriggling under his arms. ‘Aren’t you the clever one?’
‘But she’s got to leave home and move away forever,’ Josie put in.
‘Has she now? I don’t remember anyone asking me if that was all right,’ he frowned.
‘You can’t stop me,’ Dora’s chin lifted defiantly.
‘I can do what I like until you’re twenty-one, my girl.’
Their eyes met, clashing in mute challenge.
‘He’s only teasing,’ her mother broke the tense silence. ‘Your dad would never stop you bettering yourself.’
‘He’s not my dad.’
‘I still say what goes.’
Not for much longer, Dora was about to say. Then she caught the pleading look in her mother’s eyes and kept silent.
‘We should celebrate,’ Nanna suggested. ‘I dunno about you, but I reckon a nice bottle of stout would go down a treat.’
‘Good idea,’ Rose said brightly. ‘What do you say, Alf?’
All eyes turned to him. Still glaring at Dora, he lowered Bea and Little Alfie to the ground and dug into his pocket.
‘Not seeing your miserable boat race around here would be a cause for celebration, I s’pose.’ He pulled out a handful of change. ‘Josie, go to the chippie. Fish and chips all round, I reckon.’
‘But I’ve made a stew!’ Nanna Winnie protested.
Alf grimaced. ‘All the more reason to get fish and chips, then.’
‘Can I have a saveloy?’ Bea asked.
‘You can have anything you like, my darlin’, as long as it keeps you quiet.’
Dora watched her mother as she followed him inside. At forty-two years old, Rose was still a beautiful woman. Her dark hair was threaded with grey but no one would ever have guessed her slim figure had brought six children into the world.
‘I wish you wouldn’t talk back to him like that,’ Nanna said to Dora as they went back inside. ‘Alf’s not a bad bloke. And he makes your mum happy. She deserves that, after everything she’s been through.’
Dora knew her mum hadn’t had much to smile about over