Reading between the lines, Albert suspected that Tess was missing Heyworth Street. She had been happy on the farm in wartime, had made many friends at the village school, but from what she said it seemed her hosts did not regard her as a guest but as an unpaid farm hand. He thought Tess was far too bright not to realise it, and although the last thing he wanted was that she should not enjoy her holiday, he couldn’t help hoping, at the same time, that it meant that at the end of her three-week stay she would be happy to come back to Liverpool, her gran and the pals she had made here, including himself. So he tucked the card away in his wallet, closed the shop early and went along to the offices of the coach company he favoured. A coach was going to Rhyl the very next day – in fact a coach went to Rhyl every day – so he bought a ticket and returned to the flat above the tobacconist’s shop feeling happier than he had done since Tess had left.

Next morning he awoke to find sunshine streaming through a gap in his bedroom curtains. He jumped out of bed, a pleasant feeling of anticipation causing him to choose his favourite short-sleeved shirt and his best lightweight trousers. He washed hastily, then went through to the kitchen for a substantial breakfast of porridge and toast. When he and his dear Louisa had gone on coach trips she had packed a great many sandwiches, a fruit cake and a flask of tea, but Albert did not intend to eat a solitary picnic on Rhyl beach; no indeed! He meant to go to the best restaurant in town and have a light luncheon of ham salad, followed by a fish and chip supper before the coach set off for Liverpool once more. He pictured himself with his trouser legs rolled up, paddling in the sea, and wished he could have bathed – he was a strong swimmer – but did not think he could do so on a coach trip, where there would be no facilities for drying wet and salty bathing trunks. Paddling would have to do, therefore; he just hoped no one he knew from Heyworth Street would see him indulging in what was generally regarded as a childish pastime.

Albert reached the coach station and found that he was amongst the first of the would-be passengers to arrive, which had been his intention. He looked at the half-dozen women standing uncertainly beside the steps which led into the scarlet-upholstered interior, and suggested that they might as well get aboard and choose their seats before other passengers arrived. The women agreed that this was a good idea so long as the coach driver did not take exception to such forward behaviour, and presently Albert had taken his favourite place, the window seat right at the front of the bus on the passenger side, and was making himself comfortable.