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On the walk back from Waterford carrying a bag of cream knitting wool, needles and a pattern for a lacy jumper, Beth told herself that in future she would avoid any contact alone with the doctor.

Furthermore she would stop daydreaming about him.

He was, after all, a married man, with a beautiful wife and three children.

But she knew telling herself this wasn’t a fail-safe solution.

Firstly, she couldn’t understand why she would feel this way about the doctor, when all previous experience with men– except for Jack– had proved them to be brutes only interested in sex.

Secondly, and this was more worrying, she didn’t feel as if she had complete control over her actions.

If only there was someone she could talk to about this madness.

Because that was how it felt, being mad, like she had no free will anymore.

That evening she settled down by the fire to start knitting her jumper.

She had learned to knit from Auntie Ruth, and just holding the needles in her hands made her remember sitting by the fire with her, the wireless on, the fire crackling, and the repetitive movements of knitting soothing.

She’d only made squares then, all different colours, and Ruth would join them together to make blankets.

When finished, she gave them to the old folk who lived in the nearby almshouses.

She owed that kind, caring woman so much, but the best thing was that she managed to give Mary hope for her future.

Back then all Mary daydreamed of was one day living somewhere like Ruth’s.

A clean, bright place with lots of books, vivid-coloured cushions on the armchairs and sofa, and one of those tall lamps which shone a nice soft light.

In winter she’d always have a fire lit, and a fluffy red rug in front of it so she could lie on it to read a book.

She was fairly certain Ruth had some idea of how bad it was downstairs, because she was always saying Mary must prepare herself for leaving home.

Not just to be able to speak well, attain a good standard of education along with domestic skills, but to feel confident in her own abilities.

She suggested that once Mary was fourteen it would be best for her to go into service for a few years, to gain experience, have a decent home and to have the company of other staff.

Mary always wished she had been brave enough to tell Ruth the truth about her home, but she didn’t dare.

Ronnie said if she told anyone about him or what her mother did, she’d be packed off to an orphanage.

He painted the very grimmest picture for her, that she’d be hungry and cold all the time and that they’d beat her and lock her in a dark cupboard if she complained.

Even her mother would claim that all girls from orphanages ended up working like slaves for people and that they never had a good or happy life.

Mary was twelve when Ruth gave her the devastating, last-minute news that she was leaving her flat the next morning and moving out of London. ‘I wish I could take you with me,’ she said as Mary threw herself into her arms, crying. ‘But I can’t, sweetheart.’

Mary tried to persuade her to stay, but to no avail. Ruth couldn’t even give her a good reason for why she was leaving.

As shocked and heartbroken as Mary was at losing her only friend, she was astute enough to guess that Ronnie had threatened Ruth.

For some time, he’d been making snide remarks about her thinking she was better than anyone else in the street, and a nosy cow.

More worrying was that he was well known for hurting anyone who crossed him.

‘Mary, listen to me,’ Ruth had said, wiping her own tears away with the back of her hand. ‘I want you to promise me you will do as I suggested, to apply for a position in service when you are fourteen. Ask your teacher to help you with this, and she’ll give you a reference too.’

‘I don’t want to go into service,’ Mary insisted, still clinging to Ruth.

‘I know, it wasn’t what I wanted for you either.

I dreamed of college, a good career and independence,’ Ruth said, her voice cracking with emotion.

‘But going into service doesn’t have to be permanent.

It will give you a good place to live, much better food, warmth, and the companionship of other girls.

Yes, it might be tough at times, but far better for you than what will happen if you stay here and let Ronnie push you into bad things.

In a couple of years you can apply to go to college, or find a better job.

You are a clever girl, so learn all you can from the people you work for, remember the things I’ve taught you too, and I know you will do well. ’

It was soon after Ruth left that Mary realized her mother was not only a drunk and a prostitute– something she’d known for well over a year– but she also took some medicine along with all the drink to numb herself.

Sometimes she didn’t seem to know her daughter, and she lay on her bed lifelessly all day until Ronnie reminded her she had a job to do.

Mary’s life had always been bleak, but without her dear friend upstairs it became unbearable. She was often hungry and Ronnie continued to force himself upon her, and she lived in fear he might make her pregnant.

That she didn’t get pregnant was the only luck she had at that time.

She was always scared, not just of Ronnie and her mother, but bullies at school who loved to pick on her because her clothes were even shabbier than theirs, and because of what her mother did for a living.

After school she would go to the library.

There she was safe from Ronnie and she could escape into books.

She tried praying but that didn’t work. She thought of walking to the docks and jumping in, but each time she went there, the dockers were still around.

So she did what Ruth had said. When she was nearly fourteen she asked her teacher to help her find a live-in job with nice people.

Perhaps Ruth had confided her fears for Mary, because the position with the Bradleys in Hampstead was what Miss Grahame found her.

She even bought Mary a better dress and shoes for her to wear for the interview, and gave her a glowing reference.

After the dirt and poverty in Whitechapel, Hampstead was an Eden. The Bradleys lived in a tree-lined street, and everyone had pretty front gardens. She had a tiny room up on the top floor, but it was bright and clean. The bed wasn’t too good, but at least there was no Ronnie to molest her.

She had walked out of her home in Crimp Street without even a glance back.

Ronnie had been slumped in a chair, and her mother was still in bed.

She didn’t say goodbye. She’d packed and left a small bag hidden out in the yard to pick up as she left.

It contained her nightdress, the teddy bear Auntie Ruth had given her when she first began going to her flat, and the small brown leather shoulder-bag she’d given her when she said she was leaving.

It was that bag Elizabeth had round her neck for safety when she died.

Apart from those two gifts, everything else in the cloth bag was shabby and unimportant.

She vowed that day that the only reason she would ever think of Crimp Street again was to remember Auntie Ruth. But she soon found that nasty memories had stuck more firmly in her head than good ones.

It was at the Bradleys she took up knitting again.

Cook showed her how to follow a pattern and to do cable stitch and lacy patterns.

The first garment she made was a pink baby’s matinée jacket for Cook’s new granddaughter.

She was so proud of herself when it came out perfectly, she went on to make a navy blue cable-stitch sweater.

She wondered what Mrs Bradley did with it once she’d heard Mary was dead, as she’d actually admired it, and complimented Mary on her knitting skills.

But she probably packed up all her things and sent them to a jumble sale.

Mrs Bradley was very shrew-like– small, thin, and her movements so fast it was like she was a clockwork toy.

Her beady little eyes picked out a smear on glass, a cobweb, or an item left undusted, and she never praised anyone.

But to have good food, warmth and safety made up for that.

As every year went by, Mary told herself that she would find a better position in a few months, but she was scared of the unknown, and that she might end up somewhere worse.

When war broke out and the other staff left, Mary did think it was the perfect opportunity to leave and apply for war work.

But Mrs Bradley said point blank that she hoped Mary wasn’t thinking of going too.

She felt she had to stay then. But the following year she’d had enough, and in uncharacteristic boldness, she applied for the job in Kent.

After returning to London from her interview she had walked into that Lyons Corner House, and her future was decided by meeting Elizabeth Manning.

For the first time in her life she felt fate was smiling on her, which was why when Elizabeth suggested she went to Ireland with her, she didn’t refuse out of hand.

Had the bomb attack not happened, she might have backed out the next day, but finding herself in hospital, and knowing that Elizabeth had died protecting her, made her feel she must go.

Looking back at how shy and timid she’d always been, she could hardly believe what she’d managed to do by herself, things she’d once have thought far too difficult or scary to attempt.

To stay in a guest house as if she was brought up to do such a thing, to exchange her rail ticket, and speak to a real solicitor on the telephone.

Then to leave England alone, and to keep up the pretence of being Beth, and act like she was born to this new way of life, really was quite astounding.