At the Break of Day by Margaret Graham

done, Rosie realised as she was pulled against that warm, plump woman who had pushed open the yard gate as she and Grandpa were hugging mugs of tea between their hands and breathing in the roses.
    What were they talking about? Rosie served another customer, smiling, giving change, settling back against the counter. She couldn’t remember, but she smiled again at the thought of the pushchair coming through the gate, the child wide-eyed and unsure. Then Maisie, her red hair brown at the roots, her earrings jangling and her face bright with a smile.
    Rosie had stood her mug in the earth of a rose bush and run to Maisie, flinging her arms round her, smelling the older woman’s lavender scent. She had looked at Maisie, taking in the circles beneath her eyes and the lines from her nose to her mouth. But the smile was the same and the voice too.
    ‘You took your time coming home. We’ve missed you,’ Maisie said, pulling her close again. ‘We’ve really missed you.’ Rosie hadn’t spoken. She knew she would have cried, for these arms were Nancy’s too and she could hardly bear the pain.
    She squeezed Maisie, then turned, her head lowered, to Lee. He was squirming round, his eyes watching her; his smile was Jack’s but his skin was pale, freckled. Not like any of the others.
    He reached up his hand and gripped her finger and she said how cute he was, and lifted him from the pushchair, taking him to Grandpa, sitting with him on her knee. Maisie poured tea from the pot for herself, fetched Rosie’s from the rosebed, dusted the earth off the bottom with her hand, and called Rosie the same mucky devil she’d always been. They laughed together, as they used to do, and then just looked at one another.
    ‘You look tired,’ Rosie said, rubbing her cheek against Lee’s head. He pulled away and looked at her, his smile there, his eyes watching hers.
    ‘Don’t fret at what you hear,’ Maisie said, her face drawn. ‘It sounds worse than it is.’
    Would she come again tonight? Rosie wondered. She’d said she would.
    Maisie did come, with Lee again, while Rosie washed clothes in the sink. ‘Sit with Grandpa,’ she called through to the yard. ‘I’ll bring the tea out in a minute.’
    Norah slammed through from the hall. ‘I’m going out, especially now that kid’s here. There’s no bloody peace.’
    ‘Why don’t you stay?’ Rosie said as she wrung out the blouse and dress. ‘We should try to get on.’
    She had decided to be pleasant again, to try and build some sort of a bridge between them this summer because they needed one another. Couldn’t Norah see that? Families were important, but then it seemed that Norah preferred her friends.
    Norah pulled her cardigan over her shoulders and checked her make-up in the mirror, tucking the lipstick she had melted down last night into her bag.
    ‘I’ve got better things to do,’ she said. ‘We’re going dancing. Not at the crummy Palais but up West.’
    Rosie smiled, wanting to wring her neck instead of the blouse. She shook her hands over the sink, dried them, then picked up the tea tray. Norah’s dress didn’t fit. It was too tight over the hips.
    ‘Have a good time,’ was all Rosie said.
    Lee put out his arms to Rosie as she sat down between Maisie and Grandpa.
    ‘Go on, pick him up then,’ Maisie said. ‘He gets nothing but spoiling from Jack too.’
    She was smiling as she pulled out the Camel cigarettes from her bag. ‘Thanks for these, Rosie. I should have been in sooner to say thanks – and to say hello. Here you are, Albert.’ She leaned past Rosie, handing him one. ‘Got your own matches, have you?’
    He nodded.
    Rosie let Lee walk up her legs and body, holding on to his hands while he arched away, and then she put him down, watching his unsteady walk. He reached into the raised beds, picking up soil, looking at it, dropping it.
    Grandpa laughed. ‘It’s good to have you here, Maisie. A bit like old times. Can’t believe this little nipper is