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I’d be screaming the whole street down. Useless bloody man.’
    ‘Peter didn’t mean to hurt you either.’
    Vera’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m always telling him to put his things away. If only he’d listened …’
    ‘But he was so upset, and …’
    ‘His being upset doesn’t do me much good, does it?’
    ‘I know, but …’
    ‘When I was at school there was a girl in my class with burn scars. They were on the side of her head so the hair didn’t grow properly. We used to call her Scarecrow. We made her cry and she’d tell us that one day the scars would fade and her hair would grow and she’d be more beautiful than any of us. Poor little cow.’
    During the nine years they had lived together, Anna had seen many emotions reflected in Vera’s eyes. But never, until this moment, had she seen fear. As she saw it she experienced a feeling that was just as new. Pity.
    ‘It will fade, Vera. Give it time.’
    ‘I was lucky, really. It’s only my arm. Imagine if it had been my face, like Scarecrow.’
    Silence. In the street outside two young men laughed as they walked by.
    ‘I will forgive him,’ said Vera eventually. ‘What else can I do? He won’t be mine for ever. What was it my mother used to say? A son is a son till he takes a wife. One day some girl will take him away from me just as another will take Thomas, and then all I’ll have is Stan, God help me.’
    ‘I’ll always have Ronnie.’
    ‘Will you?’
    Anna pictured Ronnie as an adult. Handsome and clever. Talented and charming. Someone countless girls would love. Someone who would no longer have any need for her.
    Suddenly she was thirteen again. Standing in front of the wreckage of her home. Tasting the dust in her mouth. Feeling the emptiness inside.
    They stared at each other. Old enmities temporarily forgotten in a moment of shared dread.
    ‘Perhaps you will. Ronnie’s a good boy.’ A trace of bitterness crept into Vera’s voice. ‘One thing’s certain. He’ll make you prouder than my two will make me.’
    ‘I’d better start supper. The others will be getting hungry.’
    Vera nodded. Anna made her way downstairs.
    Sometimes, as a treat, Anna took Ronnie to the Amalfi café on the High Street.
    The café was owned by the Luca family, who had emigrated to England from Naples. Mrs Luca made wonderful cakes that were displayed in a big cabinet on the counter, but in spite of Anna’s urgings to be adventurous Ronnie always chose a jam tart washed down by a bottle of lemonade.
    They sat at a table by the window. Ronnie ate the pastry, leaving the jam until last. ‘Wouldn’t it be nicer to eat them together?’ Anna suggested. He didn’t bother to answer. She remembered her parents oncegiving her brother and herself the same advice and receiving an identical response.
    ‘Queen Elizabeth is going to be crowned, isn’t she?’ he asked between mouthfuls.
    She nodded. The papers had been discussing preparations for the following year’s coronation. Stan had been talking about it at breakfast.
    ‘When she’s crowned will she be called the Virgin Queen?’
    She thought of Prince Charles and Princess Anne. ‘I don’t think so, darling.’
    ‘Why not?’
    She felt herself blush. ‘Finish your tart,’ she told him. A man at the next table overheard the exchange and gave her an amused smile.
    The café was crowded. At a nearby table a girl of about Ronnie’s age devoured an ice cream sundae, watched by a well-dressed couple who were presumably her parents. The girl waved to Ronnie. ‘Do you know her?’ Anna asked.
    ‘That’s Catherine Meadows.’
    ‘Is she in your class?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Is she your friend?’
    ‘S’pose so.’
    ‘As good a friend as Archie?’
    A shrug. Ronnie carried on eating. His new form teacher had told her that Ronnie was popular enough with his classmates but he had yet to make any close friends. He had been for tea at Archie Clark’s house butshown no particular desire to return the favour. In a