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would fuss over Tommy, trying to coax him to eat or drink or lie down, that he would be as safe and comfortable with them as with her. But they were not her and she did not want to go.
    ‘Only an hour, a couple of hours maybe, not more, John, I can’t leave Tommy long.’
    But her brother-in-law said nothing, merely turned and went towards the gate.
    She was angry. She wanted to say angry things to him as they drove into the town and her anger surged inside her like things bubbling in a pot whose lid was clamped down. She stayed silent, thinking only about Tommy and her fears for him and for herself. He was dying, she had so little time left with him, she knew that, though she pushed the thought away, and now her sister was stealing some of that time from them.
    As they drew up outside the house, Eve said, ‘I can’t leave Tommy long. You have to understand.’
    John Bullard shrugged and went ahead.
    The place was a tip. It smelled sour and the hall and the kitchen were a mess of unwashed dishes and pans, toys and a sinkful of nappies, bottles of milk gone curdled and old cat dishes crusted with dried meat.
    The boys came streaming out to her and clutched her round the legs and pulled at her hands, six of them now, and looking ragged and grubby as street children. Eve felt ashamed, though not of them – for them she felt only love and a weary sympathy. Butshe was ashamed to have a sister leave her own boys to such a mess and of John Bullard, who sat down in the chair but pushed the youngest child away from him as he did so.
    ‘Where is she?’
    ‘In bed. That’s where she’s stayed since it happened. She ought to be feeling more like rousing herself now.’
    ‘And you … you put the kettle on and make some tea and cut some bread. They look as if they haven’t had anything to eat.’
    Eve went out, picking up the youngest as she did so, and climbed the stairs with him. He pushed his face into her shoulder and she stroked his rough, dirty hair.
    Miriam was curled on her side but awake. The little one struggled to go to her, but seeing him, she turned away.
    Eve opened the window wide.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘I’ll be all right.’
    ‘You have to tell me why you’re in bed. I shouldn’t have left Tommy, he’s very ill.’
    ‘There’s no one else can take care of them. He doesn’t bother.’
    ‘No, he does not and he’ll find he has to start. Ihave to get back home, Miriam, I can’t take your place again.’
    ‘It won’t be long. A day or two, but it leaves you so weak.’
    ‘What? What leaves you weak?’
    She knew how angry she sounded. Miriam had almost never heard her raise her voice.
    ‘I miscarried,’ Miriam said. ‘He didn’t even bother to tell you that much.’
    ‘Oh, Miriam.’ Eve set the baby on the floor.
    ‘It’s happened before. It just leaves you weak.’
    Eve sat on the bed. Her sister was pale, her skin dull, her hair lank.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It must be hard. But it will make you ill, Miriam, it will wear you out, all this.’
    ‘It already has.’ Her voice was as dull as her skin and flat as her hair.
    ‘Can’t the doctor …?’ But she didn’t bother to finish.
    ‘I’ll clear up and sort out the boys,’ she said. ‘I’ll make them something to eat for tonight. But he’ll have to see to them after that. I can’t stay. I’m sorry but I can’t.’
    ‘What’s the matter with Tommy?’
    He is dying, Eve wanted to say, to shout out. He has a growth in his stomach and another on his neck, he is in pain, he can’t eat, he weighs nothing, he can hardly stand. He is dying.
    She felt the baby’s small hands round her leg, and the weight of him trying to pull himself up. She bent down and lifted him and he tried to launch himself onto the bed and his mother.
    ‘Oh, don’t put him on me, I can’t do with him now,’ Miriam said. ‘I can’t do with any of them.’ And she turned onto her other side, away from the baby, not so much as glancing at