Oh, but her head was in a spin. On the one hand, she thought Mutti would approve. She could imagine her saying, ‘Maggie, you did the right thing.’ As she’d been dragged away, hadn’t her mother’s last words been, ‘Look after Violet!’?

But another voice inside her head was saying, ‘Maggie Corbett, you’re a disgrace. You don’t deserve this. So much for wanting to do your bit. You’ve simply left the war behind and run away.’

Then, there was the small matter of Dad. He’d be going barmy. She wouldn’t put it past him to track her down and take her home. The thought of it made her heart race.

No doubt, as soon as he got in from work today, Kath Deacon would run round from next door to tell him Maggie had gone. They were thick as thieves, those two. Maggie couldn’t stand the woman and yet, it was odd, the way things had turned out. If it hadn’t been for Kath Deacon, she wouldn’t have got away at all.

This morning, Dad had gone off to work early and Maggie had resolved to leave. She simply had to pack a bag and go. It was easy. Except, she couldn’t leave Tabby behind.

‘If you go,’ Dad had said, on the night she’d announced the bank was moving, ‘there’s no telling what’ll ’appen to that bloody cat.’

Maggie knew what that meant. It was worse than forgetting to feed her; he’d have the cat put down.

He’d tried once before when war broke out and that stupid leaflet came round and everyone was doing it – queuing up to have their pets put to sleep. It was for ‘the best’ he’d argued but Maggie, Mutti and Vi had bravely ganged together and managed to talk him round. But if Maggie left, there’d be no one to stick up for the cat.

There was nothing else for it. If Maggie was leaving, Tabby had to come too. But five minutes before she was due to go, she still couldn’t find her.

She’d raced up and down the alleyways, calling, ‘Here, Puss Puss!’ She’d checked the tops of walls, behind dustbins and stuck her head into yards where sheets and shirts and pillowcases billowed on washing lines.

There was no trace of Tabby. Maggie felt rotten but she was going to have to leave the cat behind. If she didn’t run now, she’d miss the bus and the train and the chance of another life.

But when she let herself back into the house, dejected and worn out, and glanced at the kitchen clock, she realised the game was up. It was too late.

She slumped at the table. It wasn’t meant to be. She could have put her head in her hands and wept.

‘This what you’re looking for?’