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valiantly to sound sympathetic. In truth, she was becoming increasingly impatient with her father’s apathy. She felt as if the whole weight of responsibility for the family rested on her slight shoulders, though she had to admit that Eddie was doing his bit now, even if it was to ensure he got his own way. He was going to school every day and working in the evenings and at weekends for Mr Wilmott. And, as far as she knew, he was handing over every penny he earned. He was certainly bringing home the only food they had. Now Polly hadn’t even any money to buy flour to make bread.
    As she trudged up to the goods yard at the railway station carrying two buckets to collect their share of the drinking water that was now being brought in by train from Newark, Polly was still worrying. Soon water – allegedly the cause of the epidemic – would be all they had left.
    And on Monday, she realized with a fresh wave of panic, the rent man was due to call. She’d avoided his last visit by hiding in the backyard until he’d given up knocking at the front door and gone away. Now they owed him for two months.
    The Hallidays had been wonderful. Mrs Halliday had brought pies, scones and a loaf of bread and Leo, as he’d promised, had told her that he was keeping an eye on young Eddie, but Polly couldn’t expect them to pay the rent the Longdens owed.
    And she’d tried everything she could think of to stir her father: pleading, getting angry, even forcing a light-hearted teasing. Anything to cajole William out of his chair. But nothing was working.
    Help came from a very unexpected quarter on the last Sunday afternoon in March.
    ‘I just wondered how you all were.’ Once more Roland Spicer was standing nervously on the doorstep, clutching his cap in white-knuckled fingers.
    Polly smiled at him and opened the door wider. ‘Please come in, Mr Spicer. I’m sure it’s safe now. Dad’s home and no one else in the family has the disease.’
    ‘Roland,’ he prompted, smiling and stepping over the threshold. ‘I’d heard your father was out of hospital. How is he?’
    Standing close beside him just inside the front door, Polly lowered her voice. ‘Better. Much better. In fact, the doctor said he can go back to work, but I can’t get him to budge. I – I suppose he’s still mourning Mam, we all are, but I’m getting desperate. The rent man comes on Monday and—’ She stopped, appalled at herself for spilling out such private matters to a comparative stranger. And yet Mr Spicer – Roland – didn’t seem like a stranger. True, he had been her boss at the factory, but he’d always been so friendly, so kind to her, even stepping in on more than one occasion when the raucous teasing of the older women had got hurtful.
    He needn’t have done; young though she was, Polly was an equal match for any of the women at the glue factory, giving back as good as she got. In time, as with all teasing – even that which bordered on bullying – once their prey stood up to them, the bullies’ fun was spoiled and they turned their attention to more sensitive souls. But Polly had remained one of Roland’s favourites, a fact not lost on the other women, whose teasing had then turned to spite.
    ‘She’s a bit young for a man of his age to be eyeing up.’ Ida Norton was malicious, hinting at something improper.
    Nelly Rawdon had rounded on her. ‘You wash yar mouth out, Ida. There’s not a bad bone in Roland’s body. He’s only looking out for a young lass who has to deal wi’ the likes of you.’
    Nelly became Polly’s one real friend at the factory. She reminded Polly of Bertha; a big woman with a heart to match who’d taken the young girl under her wing from Polly’s first day. And when the teasing about Roland Spicer had started, Nelly told her, ‘They’re only jealous. You stick with me, duck, and I’ll see you right. Don’t let them buggers get to you with their nasty tongues, specially that Ida Norton. She’s a cow and a