Gwen lets out a gusty sigh. Nora knows full well she would sacrifice anything for Tom, and it is impossible to ignore the importance of the day. His entire life has been lived in war. Today he has at least a partial taste of peace.

‘All right.’ Her concession rings hollow off the brick walls of the milking parlour. She smooths her palm over the cow’s flank as she rises, stooping to pick up the pail, the weight of it pulling her arm. ‘I’ll come. But I can’t promise I’ll stay long. As soon as Tom—’

Nora cuts her off with a squeal. ‘Say no more! We’ll have some fun tonight, Mrs Ellison!’ She dances up the aisle to the scales hanging on the wall. Hooking up the pail, she gathers up the pencil that swings from a grubby length of string attached to the open ledger on the neighbouring shelf. When the scale needle settles, she licks the lead and records the result. ‘I promise you we’ll make it a night to remember,’ she continues, lifting the pail clear and turning to upend it into the cooler behind her. ‘Mr Hitler is kaput, and we are out of the woods at last!’

Gwen forces a smile as she takes her place at the scales. How can she possibly explain to Nora that peace now threatens everything she has held dear for the past six years?

War hasn’t endangered Gwen. War has kept her safe.

Chapter Six

Jack

June 1939

Jack shucks off his knapsack and starts running.

The thin soles of his boots hammer down on the tarmacadam as his arms pump at his side. The horse’s screams are accompanied by a tattoo of panicked hooves. He skims the bend at full pelt and skids to a stop.

The rider is on the ground, but her one boot remains trapped in its stirrup and her frantic mount is dragging her across the lane. She begs it to stand still, her voice shaking with fear and pain as she strains to free herself. Startled by Jack’s sudden appearance, the horse throws back its head and whinnies in alarm. Its eyes roll until all Jack can see are its bloodshot whites as it wheels around, reins swinging loose on its barrel chest. The girl cries out as she is flung back against the road.

‘Easy, chap, easy …’ Jack’s tone is soothing as he opens his arms, trying to envelop the horse in his aura of calm. He takes a tentative step forward, issuing gentle reassurances to the terrified creature. ‘Keep still now, miss. I’ve nearly got him.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she assures him through clenched teeth.

The horse stamps and snorts and backs away. Jack inches closer until finally he is able to grab the loose rein and though the horse throws back its head, he manages to slip his fingers under the bridle and steady him at last.