It was a wet day. The rain had turned the roads to sludge. Everyone unlucky enough to be out on the streets hurried past Queenie, without even glancing at the heap of fruit she'd polished to gleaming on her skirts. No matter how hard she shouted, "PENNY A LOT.FINE RUSSETS! or "EIGHT A PENNY, STUNNING PEARS!" It was the worst of days. Queenie and Da had been shouting themselves hoarse for hours; Da with his tray of apples strung round his neck and Queenie with a basket of pears balanced on her head. On good days they could easily take two shillings and Mam would buy a bit of bacon and butter to have with their bread, and sometimes they'd have 'taters, roasted crisp in the fire. But today was different.

They hadn't even made enough pennies for a hot pie and a glass of beer. Da swore under his breath, "Sod this for a trade. How's a man to wet his bleedin' throat?" His face had turned red and Queenie knew his temper would soon be flaring. "Come on my gal," he suddenly shouted. "If the beggars won't come to us, we'll go to them." . The room inside was long and low, the floorboards rotten and covered with dirty remains of straw. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and the sour smell of vomit.

Customers crowded around the bar drinking; painted women groaned and cursed, and men with red, bloated faces and beady eyes reached out their hands to grab at her flesh. "Here's a pretty one ripe for the plucking," said a voice. Hot breath so close she could taste it. "Over here missy. A penny for a kiss and a feel of your arse." A shiny brown penny was lying on the floor. As Queenie bent to pick it up, stubby fingers found their way up her skirt and prodded at her where they shouldn't. The pears fell from her apron, but the penny was warm in her hand.

She stood up and looked around at the leering faces. "A PENNY FOR A FEEL OF A RIPE, JUICY ARSE!" she shouted, and ten minutes later she was back on the street with a handful of coins and the rain cooling the burning of her cheeks.