‘You come with me, lad.’

He wants to steal a final look, curious to see if she will make any attempt to watch him go, to catch his eye, perhaps say thank you. But Muriel is talking to her again, blocking her from his view, and he is disappointed that the opportunity has been snatched away. Instead, he follows her father from the room and though he longs to glance back at her, he resists the temptation to do so.

Just as he is pulling the door to, she calls out.

‘Don’t leave yet, will you?’

He is unable to suppress his smile.

Chapter Eight

Gwen

8th May 1945

‘Right, that’s me done,’ Muriel says, putting away the last of the washed-up dishes from the evening meal. ‘You’d best get a move on.’

Gwen looks up from the day’s post spread across the tabletop before her, an assortment of bills and directives as well as an advice leaflet from the WarAg. There is nothing from Jack and for that she is grateful. She casts her mind back, trying to remember when she last received a letter from him, but she cannot say with any certainty. She would have to check the drawer in her desk, for she has not been so heartless as to throw his correspondence away. In truth she was unsure what to do with his letters, but on the basis that Tom might, at some point, start asking awkward questions, it seemed wise in the end to keep them. She hopes that day is a long way off. She needs to compose her own defence before then.

She folds the bill in her hand. ‘Yes, I must.’ She gathers up the post and pushes back her chair.

‘I’ll see you in the Hare and Hounds then, whenever you’re ready,’ Muriel says, bundling the apron in her hands.

Gwen nods distractedly. ‘Yes … yes, I’ll be along as soon as I’ve got Tom sorted.’

They hear Nora moving around in the room above, already preparing for her evening out.

‘Gwen …’ Muriel’s gnarled knuckles crenellate on the back of the chair before her. ‘People are bound to say something … they’re bound to ask about Jack. You need to be ready for them.’

Gwen’s grip tightens on the letters in her hand. She stares down at the tabletop. ‘Yes. Yes, I know. I’ll think of something.’

Muriel purses her lips and Gwen looks away, fearing she is about to be pressed for more. She can almost sense Muriel’s internal battle, but in the end whatever arguments she had been aligning are stood down and the door clacks shut behind her. Gwen does not sense a victory, merely a temporary cessation of fire.

She steps up from the kitchen into the narrow strip of hallway alongside the stairs. She hears Tom in the front room as she lets herself into the small office immediately to her right.