‘Rosie, love,’ Ethel Palmer shouted upstairs to her 7 year old daughter. ‘I need you to go the shops for me.’
.‘Mam, I’m playing,’ she answered indignantly, it was the Autumn half-term school holidays and she therefore considered she had the right to play all day if she wanted.
‘Your Dad’ll be home soon, and he’ll be looking for his lunch to be on the table, you know what he’s like if he gets into a rage, you’ll be sorry.’
What Ethel actually meant was that she would be the one in trouble, Jack Palmer was not averse to using his fists or belt on his wife and children when he got annoyed, which was happening ever more frequently.
Ethel Palmer had once been pretty, very pretty, but now aged just 34, she looked at least 2O years older, dull eyed, grey faced; haggard pinched features wit
