He’d been dreading hearing from her because he knew it’d make him wince with guilt. At least her scrawly handwriting on the envelope meant she was safe and sound. Or, at least, she had been when she’d put pen to paper. Anything could have happened in the meantime but he couldn’t let himself think about that.

He felt rotten; he should be there, sitting it out with them all.

Course, whatever she said to the contrary, he knew Ma hadn’t been happy about him going off to the country, leaving her on her tod. His sisters only lived down the street but it wasn’t the same. Since Dad had gone, Ray was the man of the house.

He’d never had the chance to tell Ma about the flat above the bank that he’d been offered – him and Big Bill – at a token rent, as long as they opened up in the mornings and generally kept an eye on the place. Ma wouldn’t have been over the moon about that either but at least he’d have been nearer to her than here.

Once the bombing started and his Lordship decided to move the bank, that had been the end of Ray’s plans for a bachelor life.

Ma’s letter was full of news about neighbours, aunts and uncles and people he hardly knew, who’d been killed or caught out or bombed out.

I’m missin’ you, son, and your jokes. There ain’t much laughter round here no more although we do our best to grin and bear it.

Its mekin’ me so happy thinking of you in that big posh house, Raymond. Don’t you worry about us, we’ll get thru it. I’m glad you ain’t enlisted. Remember how your Uncle Don signed up last time and he was never the same agen?

Ray grimaced at the spelling and grammar and then felt bad for being ashamed of his own mother.

His sister’s baby was due any day now and Ma was knitting a matinee jacket, which, she wrote, meks a nice change from gloves for the troops.

Ma was pleased he worked at Rosman’s. She’d always wanted him to have an office job. It was a good job, too and, usually, before all this promotion lark started, he could manage it without much bother. But sometimes, lately, the collar around his neck felt awful tight. As though he was wearing someone else’s clothes.

A woman was coming across the yard towards him, picking her way over the cobbles. He tucked the letter away. He’d keep it in his jacket pocket until he had a chance to write back and then he’d put it on the fire. He’d die of shame if anyone else read it.

The woman was silhouetted against the sun. Ray put his hand up to his eyes to try to make her out.