‘Sarah, I wanted to let you know that I’ve got another job. I’ll still be an apprentice seamstress, but the pay is much better and it’s in a fashion house on the other side of London. My mum’s sister lives in the area, so rather than forking out the fare to travel back and forth each day, I’m moving in with her.’

Sarah just nodded, and George wasn’t sure that she took any of this in. He was worried about her state of mind and said, ‘Come on, Sarah, let’s get you home.’

‘Bye, Sarah,’ said Jenny.

There was no response again, and with unshed tears in her eyes Jenny walked away. George called out to his mother and Albert and all of them returned to the car. It was a silent journey home, his mother as quiet as Sarah. There wasn’t going to be a wake; Sarah hadn’t wanted one, saying that she couldn’t bear to prolong the day. He knew his mother didn’t approve. She felt that everyone who came to the church should be asked back to the house, and at least offered a sandwich or something. However, she hadn’t interfered, but instead had done all she could to support Sarah, and George knew she’d continue to do so for as long as Sarah needed her.

When they arrived home, George drew his mother to one side and said, ‘Mum, I’m worried. Sarah’s behaviour doesn’t seem normal.’

‘I know, love. There was hardly a dry eye in the church, but Sarah hasn’t shed a tear. Maybe it’s some kind of coping mechanism, but if she doesn’t snap out of it, we may have to call the doctor. You go and sit with her while I make a pot of tea. I don’t know about you, but I’m parched.’

Albert stayed in the kitchen, while George went to sit beside Sarah in the front room. In an attempt to break through her wall of silence, he reached out to take her hand and said, ‘It was a lovely turnout for Tommy,’ but once again she didn’t respond, her hand limp in his.

‘Sarah – are you all right, love? Can I get you anything?’

At last some movement, a small shake of her head.

George gripped her hand tighter, and said earnestly, ‘Sarah, please say something. I’m worried about you.’

At last she turned to look at him, panic in her eyes. ‘No … no … I don’t want to talk. I’m scared, George … scared that if I let myself feel … if I let myself cry … I’ll never be able to stop.’

‘You can’t keep it all bottled up, love,’ he said and gently pulled her into his arms. ‘Come on, let it all out.’