‘Sorry, Miss,’ the soldier muttered. Honestly, at any other time, it would be a right rum deal to have a strange man lie down next to you, close enough to smell his ciggie-breath, but these days it seemed almost normal.

Maggie’s nose itched. Dust. She turned her head and shifted her weight so she wasn’t facing the soldier (it was too queer, like they were a married couple lying in bed). She quickly pulled her hand in, before it was stamped on from above by a spiked heel.

Finally, everyone was still. The bus stopped rocking. They were motionless, waiting for the worst to happen. Or, God willing, the all-clear. Someone sniffed; a man coughed. No one spoke. It was like some strange child’s game. If she thought of it like that, it wasn’t quite so frightening.

Dad believed that if your time was up, it was up. If that bomb had your name on it, there was ‘nuffink you could do’. It was certainly fate that had brought Maggie here to this moment, lying in a bus, waiting, possibly, to be blown sky high.

If it hadn’t been for that chance meeting with her old teacher from the secretarial college the other day, Maggie wouldn’t be here now.

She’d popped up town to buy a few bits and pieces for Vi to take with her, and as she was leaving Peter Robinson department store, she’d bumped into Mrs Leibervich.

‘What are you doing now, Maggie?’ she’d asked. ‘Have you kept up your shorthand and typing?’

Maggie told her about the munitions factory. ‘It’s essential work,’ she’d added proudly.

‘And how do you like it?’

Maggie thought about the cavernous factory that was alternately sweltering and freezing, the infernal noise and the rotten smell of oil that clung to her clothes, skin and hair, no matter how often she washed. The flickering artificial light gave her headaches, and the stuffiness was so bad that sometimes, in her lunchbreak, she gulped the air outside like a fish out of water.

The wages weren’t bad, though. She used to hand over her pay packet to Mutti each week and get some money back, for ‘spends’.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Mustn’t grumble.’

Mrs Leibervich narrowed her eyes. ‘You know, there might be a position for a clever girl like you at a friend’s bank.’

Maggie shook her head. ‘No, really—’

But Mrs Leibervich had placed her warm hand over Maggie’s and glanced around, as though checking no one was listening. ‘This would definitely be essential work. I could put in a word, if you like.’

A week later, the factory was bombed out and Mrs Leibervich got her an interview for the job at the bank.

Today was meant to be her first day.