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Instead, she slithered slowly down to the floor.
    ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Daisy and Sal,’ snapped Vera, grabbing Poppy before she crumpled into a heap at her feet. She wrenched the glass of port from Poppy’s hand and
whistled to the landlord. ‘Bitter lemon over here when you’re ready.’ Then she whirled on Daisy. ‘She’s nothing but an innocent up from the countryside. How could you
corrupt her like this?’
    ‘Sssnot an innocent,’ protested Poppy, though no one was listening.
    Vera was glaring with ill-disguised disgust at her younger sister, but Daisy met her gaze with a challenging look, her proud chin thrust defiantly in the air.
    ‘Mr Gladstone entrusted me to look after her, and what do you two do?’ Vera said angrily.
    ‘Oh, do calm down, won’t you, Vera,’ sighed Daisy. ‘It’s just a bit of make-up. You wanna try it yourself.’
    ‘But look at her, for pity’s sake,’ said Vera, ignoring Daisy’s cruel jibe about her looks. ‘She looks like she should be working the docks.’
    ‘Steady on,’ said Sal.
    ‘Don’t waste your breath, Sal,’ tutted Daisy. ‘I reckon our young friend here would sooner be bombed out than look like my old sister.’
    ‘That’s enough of your sauce, my girl,’ Vera snapped.
    Mercifully the conversation was brought to an abrupt halt when in the corner of the smoky room, someone struck up a song on the piano. In no time at all half the pub was swaying and singing
along to the lively tune, the voices drowning out the bickering sisters.
    ‘Oh good, I love a sing-song,’ enthused Sal, relieved at the interruption. ‘Come on. Let’s grab a table before it gets too rammed. I reckon young Poppy here could do with
a sit-down.’ She winked at Poppy and gently guided her to the nearest table.
    As Poppy sat and sipped her bitter lemon, attempting to gather her wits, she took in the pub’s customers. Men and women of all ages, relieved to have escaped unharmed from their shelters,
were pouring into the warmth and safety of the Dog and Duck, ordering drinks, laughing and telling jokes. The tiny room was packed, the blacked-out windows steamed up, and the air was alive with
the babble of cockney voices competing for airspace.
    Poppy soon lost count of how many people she was introduced to.
    ‘Gracious,’ she smiled, ‘you girls are popular.’
    ‘You better believe it,’ grinned Sal, waving at Pat, Ivy and Doris from Trout’s as they walked in.
    ‘Budge up, Poppy, there’s a good gal,’ cackled Ivy, when she reached their table.
    ‘Yeah, that’s the way, sweetheart,’ piped up Pat, easing her gigantic bosom round the pub table until she was rammed in on the other side. Hapless Poppy found herself wedged in
between the layers of a human sandwich.
    ‘Don’t look so worried, Poppy,’ whispered Sal from across the table. ‘Everyone likes you, I can tell. All you need to know about the East End is if people like you,
you’re all right, but if you cross ‘em . . .’ she paused to exhale her cigarette in perfect smoke rings, ‘forget about it – your life will be a misery.’
    ‘But how will I know?’
    ‘Trust me,’ winked Sal, ‘you’ll know. You’ll be sent to Coventry.’
    ‘But I’ve only just got to London,’ Poppy pleaded, but Sal was no longer listening.
    Sitting back in her chair, Sal sighed contentedly. ‘Can’t beat this,’ she said. ‘It’d be perfect right now if only my boys were here. I don’t know why you
want to leave, Daisy. I’m going to end my days here.’
    ‘Couldn’t agree more,’ piped up Vera. ‘Everything we need is right here.’
    Daisy laughed with scorn in her voice. ‘No imagination – that’s your problem,’ she said, shrugging her delicate shoulders. As she spoke, Poppy noticed how, nearby, a
table of men were gazing rapt at Daisy, hanging on her every word. Her beauty had that effect on people. The tumbling raven curls, sensuous, inviting mouth and glittering emerald eyes gave her