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the padlock, so I asked ’em what they wanted.’
     
    ‘An’ what did they say?’ Florrie asked, taking her eyes from the fire.
     
    ‘Well, I couldn’t get much out of ’em,’ Maisie said, ‘but I saw what was written on the piece o’ paper this bloke was ’oldin’. “Bermon’sey Borough Council” it said.’
     
    ‘I reckon they’re gonna pull the place down,’ Florrie offered.
     
    Maisie shifted her position in the chair and folded her arms. ‘I was finkin’ it might be somefing ter do wiv what Maudie was sayin’. She ’eard at ’er muvvers’ meetin’ that Kate Karney was finkin’ o’ buyin’ it fer a music ’all.’
     
    Florrie pulled a face. ‘I’ve told yer not ter take any notice o’ that there Maudie Mycroft,’ she growled. ‘She’s as silly as a box o’ lights, an’ I fink that crowd she gets wiv lead ’er on, I do really.’
     
    Maisie had been watching the older lady while she was speaking and there seemed to be something different about her, something that was beginning to puzzle her. There had been a note of irritation in her voice as she sat there huddled up.
     
    That was it. Florrie had not reached for her usual pinch of snuff from her tin, and Maisie realised that the difference was apparent on the old lady’s face. The brown snuff mark was missing from around her nose. ‘’Ere, Flo, ain’t yer takin’ yer snuff?’ she asked her.
     
    Florrie shook her head slowly. ‘Ole Dr Baker come in yesterday,’ she said. ‘I was feelin’ bad an’ I knocked on the wall fer Mrs Wallis next door. ’Er boy went fer ’im. Anyway, ’e examined me an’ then ’e stood there scratchin’ ’is ’ead. “ ’Ow old are yer?” ’e asked. “Eighty next birthday,” I told ’im. “Well, it’s yer blood pressure,” ’e said. “Leave the snuff alone till yer feelin’ better. Snuff makes yer blood pressure go up.” “Gawd ’elp us, doctor, I’ve bin takin’ it fer years ter keep it down,” I told ’im.’E got a bit shirty but ’e give me some tonic an’ some pills fer me back, so I thought I’d better leave the snuff orf fer a few days.’
     
    ‘D’yer feel any better fer it?’ Maisie asked.
     
    Florrie shook her head. ‘I feel worser terday,’ she replied.
     
    ‘Well, why don’t yer try a pinch then?’ Maisie suggested.
     
    ‘As a matter o’ fact I was just out of it when I was taken bad,’ Florrie said.
     
    Maisie stood up and buttoned her coat. ‘I’ll run up the shop an’ get yer some. I’ll leave me bag ’ere.’
     
    As the good Samaritan hurried to the shop in Jamaica Road she wondered and worried about Florrie. She shouldn’t be on her own, Maisie thought. Not at her age. As far as she knew, Florrie had no relatives to look after her and, apart from Mrs Wallis, no one was on hand should she have another bad turn. Maybe she could come and live with me and Fred, Maisie considered. I’ll have a word with Fred soon as I get in.
     
     
    At eleven o’clock that Monday morning a removal van pulled up at the end of Page Street. Watched by one or two sad faces, the removal porters started to load up the possessions of Alec and Grace Crossley. Their work was soon done and the van drove off. A little later the publican and his wife emerged from the pub and stepped into a waiting taxi. The few bystanders shouted their good luck messages and waved to the sad couple. Grace dabbed at her eyes and Alec blew hard into a handkerchief as the cab slowly drew out into Jamaica Road.
     
    ‘I’m gonna miss their moanin’ an’ their miserable faces,’ Grace said quietly.
     
    Alec nodded. ‘When yer come ter think of it, they ain’t got much ter be ’appy about,’ he replied. ‘Still, never mind, luv. We’ll come back an’ see ’em all before long.’
     
    Grace stared out of the cab as it swung round the bend in the road and accelerated towards Tower Bridge. She felt in her heart that they would never return to the riverside borough