She looked up and saw some men coming along the street in a knot. She wondered who they were. It was still a little too early for the dockworkers to be coming home. They were talking angrily, waving their arms and shaking their fists. As they came closer she recognized Mr. Ross, who lived upstairs and worked with Papa at Pilasters. Why was he not at work? Had they been sacked? He looked angry enough for that. He was red in the face and swearing, talking about stupid gits, lousy bleeders and lying bastards. When the group drew level with the house Mr. Ross left them abruptly and stomped inside, and Maisie and Danny had to dive out of the way to avoid his hobnailed boots.

When Maisie looked up again she saw Papa. A thin man with a black beard and soft brown eyes, he was following the others at a distance, walking with his head bowed; and he looked so dejected and hopeless that Maisie wanted to cry. “Papa, what’s happened?” she said. “Why are you home early?”

“Come inside,” he said, his voice so low that Maisie could only just hear.

The two children followed him into the back of the house. He knelt by the mattress and kissed Mama’s lips. She woke up and smiled at him. He did not smile back. “The firm’s bust,” he said, speaking Yiddish. “Toby Pilaster went bankrupt.”

Maisie was not sure what that meant but Papa’s tone of voice made it sound like a disaster. She shot a look at Danny: he shrugged. He did not understand it either.

“But why?” Mama said.

“There’s been a financial crash,” Papa said. “A big bank in London failed yesterday.”

Mama frowned, struggling to concentrate. “But this isn’t London,” she said. “What’s London to us?”