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of his life with his mates, and of them keeping each other safe. Now, open
your door and let me in, and let’s get a cuppa. There’s sommat as I want to talk to you about.’
    Shaking her head, Beryl looked incredulous at this, but Ada ignored her. They say that talking of doom and gloom brings it down on you, and she had only managed to lift that feeling an inch high
off her with the thought of her new plans, so she wasn’t about to tempt fate and invite it back in.
    Beryl’s kitchen gleamed, as if a dozen women had set to and given it a spring-clean, but Ada knew that her sister kept it like that on her own. She went over-the-top with her cleanliness,
and scrubbed her house from floor to ceiling for most of the hours she was at home. Everywhere Beryl had control of was the same: pristine and in order.
    ‘Sit yourself down, lass. Let me take your coat, and then I’ll get you that pot of tea.’
    ‘Naw, I’ll see to the tea. You can take me coat, though, and then get yourself changed. You don’t want to sit around in that overall.’
    Making tea in Beryl’s kitchen wasn’t a chore. The sound of the water hitting the bottom of the gleaming copper kettle was like no other, and it was much easier from a brass-knobbed
tap than ladled from a bucket filled from the communal water pump, as Ada and the lasses who lived around her had to do.
    Once she’d put the kettle on the stand over the gas ring, she sat at the table, careful not to disturb the whiter-than-white lace cloth. It was one of a set of two that their mam had
crocheted. She had the other, though hers was packed away and only came out on high days and holidays. She couldn’t risk it being spoiled. It was all she had of her mam’s.
Oh, Mam,
if only you were here.
Tears stung her eyes at this thought.
    A noise pulled her up and made her blink the tears away. She knew what it was, but it still sounded unfamiliar: Beryl had flushed her inside lav.
Eeh, I never thought I would see the like. A
lav inside the house!
There was no going out to the bog in the yard and sharing it with a neighbour at the back, when you lived on the hill. No, Beryl only had to cross the hall. And her lav
didn’t have to be emptied by the cart at night, either, because you could flush the contents away by pulling a chain with a fancy pot-handle on the end of it.
Eeh, whatever next?
    But then everything around her was a marvel to Ada. This kitchen of Beryl’s was like something from another world, compared to her own scullery-cum-living room. The red-tiled floor was
polished till it gleamed, and yet it wasn’t slippery. That was in contrast to her own brick-stone floor, with dirt so ground into the grooves that even taking a wire brush to them never
shifted it. Here, the blue-painted cupboards stretched along under the window and butted up to the pot-sink, with its checked blue-and-white curtain looking fresh and pretty. They were nothing like
the wooden bench-table she had, with its shelf underneath for storage. And then there was the dresser made of dark oak. Its deep polish gave it a rich texture that provided a lovely backdrop to the
beautiful blue china plates displayed on it. She had just four of her own plates, as Paddy had broken his and now used the one their Bobby had used; they were stacked on a shelf next to the stove,
along with the few other bits of china she possessed.
But then these are only possessions and, much as I’d like to own them, I’d still not trade places with Beryl.
    The whistle of the kettle brought Ada out of her thoughts and coincided with Beryl’s return to the kitchen, giving her no time to look busy. Her sister had a jibe at her, as was her way,
laughing as she did. ‘Eeh, our Ada, you haven’t the pot ready, nor the cups. By, lass, I can’t trust you to do owt right.’ With this, Beryl took the tea towel from its hook
and hit out at her with it. Ada ducked and giggled, and the last of the sad feelings that had taken her earlier