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they shouted. The front door slammed, then there was a clatter, and 'Tara, Annie', came through the letterbox.
    Dot smiled and looked as if she might cry again. 'Aren't they lovely lads? I'm a lucky woman, what with Bert an' all.' She didn't speak for a while, and Annie thought she'd forgotten her question, until she leaned over and took her niece's hand. 'I suppose you've a right to know, luv. You're nearly grown up, specially with what happened today.' She took a deep breath. 'Your mam and dad had their own house off Chestnut Grove in those days. The night Johnny died, your dad was late; he should have been home long before the siren went. The shelter was only at the bottom of the street and Rose got all the things together you need for a baby. She took them to the shelter, meaning to come straight back for Johnny, and . . . well, you know the rest. She'd only set foot inside when the bomb fell. If your dad was there, they'd have taken Johnny with them.' Dot paused and eyed the whisky bottle, but made no move to touch it.
    'And what was me dad up to?' whispered Annie.
    Dot stared into her empty glass. 'He was an awful weak man, your dad. He couldn't resist a pretty face, even if Rose was the only woman he wanted. It came out he was with someone else, and no, Annie, I don't think your mam will ever get better, because she's too eaten up with jealousy and hatred, all mixed up with terrible love, and in my opinion, it's nowt to do with Johnny dying, but because your dad betrayed her.'
    'I see,' said Annie, wondering if she did. Her aunt was still clutching her hand, and now her grip tightened, so hard that Annie winced.
    'He's me little brother, and he did an awful thing, but no man has paid more thoroughly for his sins than our Ken.' Dot's voice began to rise and became grating,
    almost hysterical. 'Sometimes I wonder if it's all a sham with Rose, if she's putting it on, trying to squeeze every last drop of remorse out of him. But no-one could put on an act like that for so long, surely? No-one could be so twisted as to wreck so many lives, including their own, could they, Annie?'
    Annie wished she'd never raised the subject. Dot frightened her. Her eyes glinted strangely and she looked almost unhinged. She tried to extricate her hand, but her aunt's grip was too strong.
    'She was already expecting you when it happened,' Dot said hoarsely. 'We thought another baby'd do the trick, bring her back to her senses, but it made no difference. As for Marie, she was an accident.' She laughed bitterly and eyed the whisky bottle again.
    Annie managed to drag her hand away. She returned the bottle to the sideboard and said brightly, 'Shall we have a cup of tea. Auntie Dot?'
    Later, when they were having the tea. Dot recovered her good humour. 'I'm sorry, luv, for letting off steam just now. I should never have had that second glass of whisky,'
    Annie was relieved her aunt was back to her amiable, good-natured self. She was glad she'd come, after all. She'd learnt a lot about Mam and Dad, though she doubted if it would help to understand them better.
    When the letter arrived to say she'd failed the scholarship. Dad merely shrugged his shoulders wearily and didn't say a word.
    Grenville Lucas Secondary Modern school had been built after the war. It was a light, airy two-storey building with modern desks and equipment. The walls were covered with drawings, the work of the pupils themselves, done in the art room overlooking the tree-lined playing fields.
    Annie went into the top stream, though soon discovered she was no longer a star pupil. There were many boys and girls cleverer than she would ever be. After a while, being clever didn't matter. What mattered was making friends, being one of the 'in-crowd'. The worst thing that could happen was not being invited to join a clique, being an outsider.
    To her surprise, she found herself quite popular, and eventually attached herself to Ruby Livesey, leader of a nameless sisterhood of about a