Milly had no idea what a roll in the field was, but she certainly didn’t want one. By now he had a tight grip on her arm and this time she couldn’t break free.

Milly did her best not to panic. ‘Let go of me!’

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ he said, pulling her closer, his beery breath making her gag. ‘You’ll love it.’

She became aware of someone else. Another man had pushed his way between them. He wasn’t very tall and he was holding a paintbrush in his hand. ‘Leave the lady alone,’ he said coldly. ‘She don’t want it, see?’

‘Sez who?’ the drunk replied.

‘Says Seebold Flowers,’ said the newcomer.

The drunk laughed in his face. ‘Well, my little flower,’ he sneered, ‘you can sling your ’ook. You don’t scare me. Look at yer. You’re ’ardly even a man. You’re still wet behind yer ears.’

Now that he’d said that, Milly could see that her rescuer was not that much older than she was but, although he was only about five foot five or six, he was solidly built. However, as the drunk towered over them both, she shivered. It looked as if they were both in trouble.

A couple of other men had come out of the beer tent and wandered over to join them. ‘What’s up, mate?’ said a man with a beer glass in his hand.

‘This little runt is spoiling fer a fight,’ said the drunk. ‘Trying to stop me and my gal from being togeffer.’

Seebold Flowers laid his paintbrush on the top of a paint pot next to one of the rides.

‘I am not your girl,’ Milly said indignantly. ‘I don’t even know you.’

‘Then let me hin-tro-duce meself,’ said the drunk, leaning towards her, his lips puckered.

Milly shrieked and kicked his shin. As the drunk stumbled, he accidentally bumped the other man’s beer glass, spilling the dark liquid onto the grass. Furious, the drinker turned to attack.

At the same time, she heard the other much younger man saying, ‘Listen, mate. Don’t waste your punches. There’s a ring over yonder. For two bob, you can try your luck with the gloves on. Get through a round and you win ten bob, get through three rounds and they’ll give you five quid.’

The drunk wobbled. The other man turned towards the direction of Seebold’s pointing finger.

‘Five quid?’

‘Yep. Five quid.’

Milly forgotten, the two men appeared to be interested. Relieved, Milly turned to go, but then she heard a vaguely familiar voice calling her name. With the men distracted, the younger man took her arm and hustled her towards the hoopla stall. For a second or two, it felt as if she’d fallen out of the frying pan and into the fire, but then she heard Lena’s voice.

‘Milly. What happened – are you all right?’

Her rescuer was already turning back towards the men. ‘Come on then, lads,’ he said cheerily. ‘Beat the boxer and go home rich. Five quid. That’s good drinking money, that is.’ And like lambs to the slaughter, they followed meekly behind him.

Lena was standing behind the colourful stall, complete with flashing lights. There was no music, but the carousel was right next door and the organ was blaring loud enough to awaken the dead. Milly felt a wave of relief. Her half-sister lifted a door in the top of the surround and Milly stumbled to safety. The two sisters clung to each other.

‘What were you doing out there?’ Lena gasped, putting the three large hoops on her arm onto the counter. ‘And where’s Pa? I told him to wait by the caravan.’

‘I came on my own,’ Milly gulped tearfully. ‘I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry. Oh Lena, there was this awful man. He tried to drag me into the field and . . .’

Lena called over to a middle-aged woman on the next stall, where the punters were throwing darts at playing cards pinned to the wooden uprights. ‘Hey, Lil, can you ask your Vera to take over my stall for a bit?’

As Lena put her arm around Milly’s shoulder, another young girl vaulted over the barrier and picked up the three hoops from the counter.

‘Thanks, Vera.’

With a nod, the girl began to call out, ‘Hoopla, hoopla. Three for a tanner. Fab-bulous prizes. Roll up. Roll up. Three ’oops for a tanner.’

The two girls headed towards the end of the field, where the fairground folk had their living quarters. Calmer now, Milly glanced around at the brightly coloured caravans; some were the traditional wooden variety which would have been pulled by a horse, others were more modern, meaning that they could be fixed to a motor car. Lena pointed out her home, which was a different kind of caravan altogether. Milly gasped at the large red and white wagon. It was a solid design, made with what looked like interlocking aluminium panels. As they walked towards it, Milly could see an extra area which had been pulled out from the side. The whole thing resembled a balcony. Next to it was a flight of wooden steps, six in all, leading to the entrance. Once inside, far from encountering a pokey, cramped space, she was staggered by its size, opulence and splendour. They had walked into the kitchen, which was a world away from the humble scullery-cum-kitchen in Nan’s little cottage. This one was amazing. Behind the sink and drainer was a window overlooking the fields beyond. Colourful cups hung from hooks over the sink, and matching plates were stacked on the shelves above. The sink itself had a tiled splashback. A middle-aged woman was bending to put some pots and pans into a cupboard beside the sink. She straightened up as Lena and Milly walked in the door.

‘‘Allo, lovey,’ she said to Lena. ‘Come fer a spot o’ grub already?’

She was neat and tidy, wearing a pink and yellow blouse and dark skirt under her colourful wrap-around apron. Her brown hair was flecked with grey and scraped into a bun on the top of her head, but little tendrils hung attractively around her face. Round her neck she wore a paisley pattern kerchief which mismatched with the pattern on her blouse.

‘It’s a bit early yet,’ said Lena, ‘but we’ll stop for a cuppa.’

‘Right you are,’ said the woman.

‘The blokes in the beer tent were getting a bit lairy,’ Lena explained, ‘until Seebold sorted it out.’ She stepped back proudly. ‘Alice, this is Milly. Millicent Ann Shepherd, my sister. Milly, this is Big Alice.’

Milly stepped forward with her hand extended. ‘How do you do.’

The older woman chuckled. ‘She’m very polite, ’ant she?’ she said, wiping her hand vigorously down her hand-stitched apron before returning Milly’s handshake.

The woman had twinkling eyes and a weather-beaten face. Milly warmed to her straight away.

‘Big Alice looks ar’ter me,’ Lena said, reverting back to the way she used to speak when she was in the cottage with Angel. ‘I just calls her Alice.’

Milly was surprised that Lena was allowed to call an adult, no matter how familiar, by her first name. She was always expected to use the prefix Auntie or Uncle when addressing a grown-up, even though that person might not be related to her. If she spoke to someone outside the family circle, she was expected to be quite formal, and use Mr or Mrs before their surname.

Big Alice nodded. ‘You go on in, lovey. George is in ’is chair. I’ll bring the tea directly.’

‘Can I use the toilet?’ Milly whispered as they moved further down the caravan.

The bayroom, as Lena called it, was just along the short corridor. Milly was surprised to find a china sink, complete with brass taps, fresh fluffy towels hanging from brass rings beside it and plenty more on the shelves.

‘This ’ere is my bedroom,’ said Lena, as Milly came out of the bathroom.

Although Milly only had a moment to glance inside the room next door, she was impressed. It was snug but Lena had a full-sized box bed with a chest of drawers beside it and sliding doors underneath. The little stuffed dog Milly had given her half-sister the day they’d gone to Worthing to buy her school shoes lay on the pillow of her bed. Milly’s throat tightened as the memory of that night under the eaves of the cottage came flooding back. She’d have to tell Lena, wouldn’t she. She took in a breath but, as she turned towards her sister and saw her smile, Milly knew she couldn’t do it. Not today.

‘Very nice.’

Lena closed her bedroom door and they set off along the little corridor again. All at once, Milly leaned towards Lena and whispered confidentially, ‘Why is she called Big Alice. She really isn’t that big.’

Lena chuckled. ‘It’s because she’s older than Little Alice.’

‘Oh,’ said Milly.

At the far end of the corridor, Milly came to a beautiful sitting area with brown mahogany surrounds, carpet on the floor and a large mirror over a wood-burning stove. On the way into the room, she’d stepped over the metal runners which enabled the ‘balcony’ to be pushed out. Next to the fire were two very comfortable-looking leather chairs, one facing her, the other with its back to the door. A third chair, a wooden upright, was squeezed in between. Someone was sitting in the chair with its back to the door. She couldn’t see the occupant but blue smoke curled above the chair and the room smelled pleasantly of cigar.

‘Milly,’ Lena said proudly, ‘I want you to meet Rainbow George.’