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herself and she was gratified to see they didn’t last long as eager hands reached out for them. Tom ignored them in favour of the crumble and some biscuits as well as the tomato sandwiches Nancy had asked her to make.

      ‘We have to give them some fresh fruit and vegetables, and tomatoes are the one thing most of them like, as long as it’s in a sandwich with a little salt, pepper and vinegar. I slice them and season them on a plate first. Don’t make the mistake of sprinkling vinegar on the tomatoes once they’re on bread …’ Nancy warned.

      Tom took a bite of his sandwich as he moved away, stopped, turned back and took another quickly before they all went. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Did you make them?’

      ‘Nancy showed me how.’

      ‘Thought so,’ he mumbled, his mouth full of sandwich. ‘You’re all right, new girl …’

      Jinny smiled, because Tom wasn’t easy to please. Nancy came up to her as the tables filled and children and staff took their places.

      ‘Doesn’t look as if we’ll have much waste tonight,’ she said, her glance passing along the table. ‘I’ll have the last of those sandwiches if no one else wants it – and one of those rock cakes. They look good … yes, lovely.’ She smiled as she bit into it. ‘Nan used to make these when I was about your age. She was the head carer here nine years ago and she helped me so much …’

      Jinny felt pleased because one or two children were coming back for seconds and there wasn’t much left. She was just about to take the last rock cake for herself when Tom came up and snatched it from under her nose.

      ‘Jax says these are great,’ he said. ‘Just like my mum used to make before she died …’

      ‘Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry,’ Jinny said, feeling a wave of sympathy for the lad she’d thought was always complaining. ‘I miss my dad too …’

      He glared at her and walked off, seeming angry that she’d dared to offer him sympathy. She bit her lip, because she’d wanted to please and believed she had – and now he’d gone cold on her.

      Jinny started collecting empty plates and taking them through to the kitchen. She was determined to wash everything before she left that evening, even though she wanted to pop over and see Nellie, who would want to know how she was getting on with her new job …

      ‘Do we ’ave ter do this tonight?’

      Elsa’s sulky tones broke into Jinny’s thoughts and she turned to look at the young woman who had spoken. Elsa was nineteen, older than Jinny, but sometimes she acted like a spoiled brat, making faces behind Mrs Davies’ back when she asked them to do something difficult or time-consuming. In fact, Jinny thought the other woman spent most of her time watching the clock until it was time to go home.

      ‘You know it can’t be left overnight. Besides, we can get this lot done easily if we put our minds to it,’ Jinny said. ‘I’ll wash and you can wipe. Put everything on the table and I’ll stack it later.’

      ‘They won’t appreciate yer any more if yer stay late every night,’ Elsa said but picked up a tea towel and began to wipe the dishes with obvious reluctance. ‘You’re just a skivvy to them upstairs and don’t yer forget it …’

      Jinny looked at her in amazement, because she’d met with nothing but kindness from everyone who had employed her. ‘I’m glad to have a job and somewhere to live,’ she said. ‘It isn’t too much to ask that I do my work properly, is it?’

      Elsa sniffed but said no more. Aware that sulking wasn’t going to do her any good, she started talking about her current boyfriend who was taking her to the dance at the social hall that weekend.

      ‘Why don’t yer come?’ she said suddenly. ‘It’s a bit of fun and we get little enough workin’ ’ere …’

      ‘I can’t dance,’ Jinny replied, but felt sad that she had no one to take her. ‘Besides, I don’t have a partner.’

      ‘Yer can soon pick up a chap,’ Elsa said. ‘Yer look all right and we all muck in tergevver anyway …’

      ‘No, I don’t think so, thanks anyway,’ Jinny said. She didn’t want to play gooseberry with Elsa and her boyfriend, and the thought of picking up a stranger sent chills down her spine. She might end up with someone like Jake walking her home!

      Nellie gave her a beaming smile as she told her how the kids had enjoyed the rock cakes she’d taught Jinny to make. ‘Well, fancy that,’ she said. ‘They ain’t special, just plain home cooking. I should’ve thought that fancy cook of theirs could produce better stuff than my rock cakes …’

      ‘She’s all right cooking dinners and making scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, but she doesn’t like making cakes and biscuits or puddings for the kids’ tea and supper. She says they only need a biscuit at supper and thinks out of a packet is good enough …’

      ‘It’s more’n a lot of kids get,’ Nellie said with a sniff. ‘I reckon them kids wot complained were ’avin’ yer on, love.’

      Jinny considered for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No, Nancy told me the last cook used to make everything herself. She thought it was cheaper and better for them – you can get them to eat fruit if you put it in pies and crumbles …’

      ‘We ’ad to make do with bread and scrape in my young days,’ Nellie said, ‘and durin’ the war we ’ad wot we could get …’

      ‘I remember everythin’ bein’ short,’ Jinny agreed. ‘But because we had to make do with less then doesn’t mean kids should go short now, does it?’

      ‘No, it don’t,’ Nellie agreed with a laugh. ‘I reckon them kids of yourn will be spoiled rotten if you ’ave anythin’ ter do wiv it …’

      ‘Oh, Nellie, you know you don’t mean that,’ Jinny said and laughed delightedly, because she could see the twinkle in her friend’s eye. ‘They’ve been through so much some of them. Sandra – she’s Sister Beatrice’s secretary and helps her with lots of things – well, she was telling me about children who’ve been brought to us … from parents who abuse them and beat them, orphans who’ve been on the streets until they were found and brought to us … and kids who’ve run away from other homes. Sandra told me that some places they treat the kids somethin’ awful …’

      ‘I’ve heard about places like that,’ Nellie agreed with a dark look. ‘It’s disgusting if yer ask me – the councils that run ’em should take more care when they pick their workers. And they ought to inspect ’em an’ all …’

      ‘St Saviour’s is run by a charity and they’ve got another home in Essex – on the outskirts of Harlow – so Sandra said. Her son was sent there when she was in trouble and he ran away. Archie says it isn’t anywhere near as nice as St Saviour’s. He doesn’t live at the home now but he works on the market and visits his mum sometimes and comes to the kitchen afterwards for a chat …’

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