‘That’s right . . .’ Marilyn was beginning when a hand dropped on her shoulder. It belonged to a tall, grey-haired man with a neat little Hitler moustache and what appeared to be a very heavy basket in the other hand. ‘Whatever are you doin’, Marilyn Thomas? I’ve been huntin’ for you all over,’ he said in a sharp cockney accent. He glanced at Tess and Jonty, then gave an apologetic smile. ‘Ah, old pals, I see! I might have guessed me best girl would forget all about me. But we’ve gotta train to catch . . .’

He was taking Marilyn’s hand and tucking it into his arm as he spoke, but Marilyn pulled free and turned back to Tess. ‘I’ll be in Liverpool for a week; tell Snowy,’ she hissed. ‘I’d – I’d like to see him again.’ Suddenly the big blue eyes were pleading. ‘You’ll tell him? We’re still at the corner shop . . . you won’t forget?’

Tess opened her mouth to reply but she had scarcely got two words out when Marilyn’s escort gave an exclamation of annoyance and towed Marilyn away from them. ‘Sorry to break up the party,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘but we’re off to visit Marilyn’s family on the Wirral. Nice to have met . . .’ The rest of the sentence was lost as the pair dived across the road, heading for Central station.

Jonty glanced curiously at Tess. ‘Who is she?’ he demanded rather petulantly. ‘Oh, I know her name’s Marilyn Thomas, but who is she?’

Tess smiled. ‘She was Snowy’s girlfriend when we were kids in school,’ she explained. ‘But she dropped him because she thought he was two-timing her with me.’ She giggled. ‘Imagine, Jonty! I was a scruffy kid, no more than thirteen or so, and Miss Perfect was jealous! She didn’t like me anyway, because I was a lot younger and smarter than she was, and she held it against me for years. And now let’s forget all about her and get on with our shopping.’

Snowy sat in the train on Christmas Eve and gazed out through the rain-flecked window. He thought he had never seen country so green and beautiful, though he guessed that probably there were few on the train who felt as he did. He had travelled by troop ship and army lorry to the depot where he had been given a rail warrant and become a civilian once more, and now he was on his way home, not just home to good old Blighty, but home to the particular part of it where he had been born and brought up. The man next to him was also a returning soldier and presently he dug an elbow into Snowy’s ribs. ‘Ain’t it just grand to see rain drippin’ off the trees?’ he said as the train emerged from a tunnel and began to pick up speed through densely wooded country. ‘I reckon you’ve been in Malaya, same as me. Am I right?’