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live there.’
    â€˜Well, at least you get along with Father more than the rest of us. You know how to get round him when you want. You have an easy life of it here, if you ask me.’
    â€˜I’m not asking. I hate it here, I never wanted to come. I wish we were still in the town.’
    â€˜What? Choking to death next to the chemical works? If Mam hadn’t moved us up here where the air’s fresher, our Jack would be dead by now.’
    â€˜Aye, it’s always Jack, Jack. Mam only cares for him - and you - Mam’s little pet. No one thinks about what I want. The only one who looks out for me is Aunt Maggie. I wish she were my mam.’
    Kate kept silent at the provocation, for maybe there was some truth in it. There had been hard times after their father died when Maggie had taken in baby Mary and brought her up as her own. She still remembered the day when the resentful young Mary was brought back to live with them, kicking and wailing and destroying the family harmony. Only John had any patience with her; for her sisters it meant less food on their plates and less room in the bed. She wondered if Mary would ever be happy. It was just in her nature to hanker after what she couldn’t have, or want to be somewhere other than where she was.
    Kate rolled to the edge of the mattress, thinking how good it would be to get away to Aunt Lizzie’s. She sank into an exhausted sleep long before Mary’s unhappy mutterings ceased.
    But when the day of departure came, Kate was suddenly tearful at leaving her family behind. She had given notice in Shields, the note to Lizzie had been sent and a small wicker basket of possessions packed. Jack was going to help her carry it down to the railway station in Shields before going on to school and Mary was coming for the outing.
    John was sitting slurping tea at the table, dressed for work. He had avoided her all week, hardly giving her a glance, and Kate wondered what he recalled of the previous Saturday. Something about his awkwardness towards her suggested that he was eager to be rid of her; she was a thorn under his skin.
    â€˜Kate’s off then, John,’ Rose said stiffly.
    He looked up and nodded. ‘You behave yourself and work hard. Don’t do owt to bring shame to your mother or me, do you hear?’
    â€˜No, Father, course not.’ Kate hesitated. A week ago she would have dashed forward and planted a kiss on his hollowed cheeky but now she was wary. ‘Ta-ra then.’
    She clattered out of the cottage with Rose following into the dewy morning light. Her mother pressed a parcel of jam sandwiches wrapped in brown paper into her hands. ‘Take care of yoursel’, hinny.’
    â€˜Oh, Mam!’ Kate flung her arms around her mother’s neck, squashing the bundle of food. ‘Will you be all right?’
    â€˜Aye, don’t fuss.’ Rose pushed her away gently. ‘Tell Lizzie I’m askin’ after her and let us know when you’re settled.’
    Her words sounded final, as if she did not expect a swift return. Rose’s wistful look and the way she fondly adjusted her daughter’s straw hat was too much for Kate. The tears that were stinging her eyes flooded down her pale cheeks.
    â€˜I won’t go if you don’t want me to!’
    Mary huffed down the path. ‘Well, I’ll go then.’
    Rose thrust a rag of pocket handkerchief at Kate. ‘Course you’ll go. Wipe your eyes and let’s hear no more wailin’. Now be off with you or Jack’ll be late for his lessons.’
    Kate blew her nose and tried to quell the sobbing she felt welling up inside. She did not attempt to kiss her mother again.
    â€˜I’ll write. Mary can read it to you.’
    Rose nodded and waved her away. Kate gave one last look at the cottage as they turned into the lane. Rose was still standing in the doorway, her face in shadow. The brooding cooing of hens broke the early morning quiet