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of love swept over her. So powerful she thought her heart would burst.
    ‘Shall I tell you a secret, Ronnie? Whenever I feel sad I tell myself that I’m the luckiest person in the world because I have the best son in the world. Handsome, clever and good. And I promise that one day I’ll make you as proud of me as I am of you.’
    The piece of bread lay next to them on the bed. He offered it to her. Though not hungry, she ate to make him happy.
    Tuesday evening. Anna walked along Moreton Street.
    It was half past seven. She had been working late. An attempt to make amends for the disaster of the previous week.
    Stan walked beside her. He had been for a pint with a couple of friends from the factory, though judging by his unsteady gait he had drunk considerably more than that. Though Vera was no mean drinker herself, she could be very moralistic when confronted with an intoxicated Stan. Anna considered taking him to the café on the High Street for a coffee but decided against it. Vera was making supper that night and their lives would not be worth living if they were late.
    It was dark. The street was empty except for Vera’sfriend Mrs Brown, walking arm in arm with her deputy bank manager husband, wearing fake pearls and high heels that threatened to buckle under her ample frame. Out to dinner perhaps, at that new restaurant in the High Street. The Browns ate out regularly. Vera was always on at Stan to take her to restaurants and he would complain that it cost too much.
    They exchanged brief pleasantries on passing. Mrs Brown, registering Stan’s drunken state, gave a smile that merged amusement with contempt. Anna felt Mr Brown’s eyes crawl all over her. The previous December, at Stan and Vera’s Christmas party, he had cornered her in the kitchen and suggested that he take her out for a ride in his new car as she was a girl who clearly liked a bit of fun. She had declined and he had never mentioned it again, but even now she couldn’t see him without feeling the need to go and wash.
    They moved on towards number 41. The lights were on. Thomas sat in his bedroom window, struggling with his homework. He gave them a wave. She waved back while Stan reached for his key. He unlocked the door. She entered first.
    And heard the scream.
    It came from the kitchen. High and shrill. A mixture of fear and terrible pain.
    She ran, followed by Stan. Vera lay on the floor, the chip pan beside her. Boiling fat oozed across the floor. The air was full of the sickly smell of burnt flesh.
    Stan, befuddled with drink, looked too shocked to act. Anna took charge. ‘Go to the Jacksons. Use theirphone to call an ambulance. Now!’ He turned and ran while she crouched down, pulling Vera to safety.
    Thomas appeared, followed by Peter and Ronnie. ‘Keep away,’ Anna told them. Vera, already whimpering, was starting to tremble. Shock was setting in. ‘One of you fetch me a blanket. Quickly!’
    As she waited she comforted Vera, making soothing noises and trying not to look at the damaged flesh on the left arm. Instead her eyes settled on Peter’s roller skate, partly covered by the pan as if attempting to hide its guilt.
    Anna sat on Vera’s bed, changing the dressing on her arm.
    She tugged a little harder than she had intended. Vera winced. ‘Careful!’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘You’re not as bad as that bloody nurse. Where did they train you? I asked her. Belsen?’ Vera laughed at her own joke but it did little to lift the grey pallor of her face. The painkillers didn’t seem to be helping. Stan had told Anna that she regularly woke in the night in pain.
    Peter appeared in the doorway. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ he asked anxiously.
    ‘Yes.’ Vera’s tone was curt.
    ‘Are you really? Do you promise?’
    ‘I’ve said so, haven’t I? Now go away.’
    Peter did as he was told. Anna finished. ‘All done. Sorry if I hurt you.’
    ‘You didn’t mean to. Anyway, better you than Stan.’ Another laugh. ‘If he were doing this