Gwen finds them all in the kitchen finishing off breakfast when she finally returns inside. Nora has a half-empty mug of tea before her, and a half-smoked cigarette clamped between her fingers, its end bearing a ring of lipstick. Gwen passes no comment on the girl’s enhanced appearance.

‘It’s blowing cold now,’ she says, although she is unsure whether it is the weather or Ted’s words which have chilled her the most. ‘The weather’s definitely on the turn.’

‘It’ll be Christmas before you know it,’ Nora says, drawing on her cigarette.

‘Will it really? Will it be Christmas very soon?’ Tom bounces in his chair.

‘It will, Tom.’ Nora leans forward. ‘And what do you want Father Christmas to bring you?’

Gwen wishes Nora would not stir the boy up, though she is relieved that he appears to have forgotten her rash promise about the bicycle. Her pathetic haul of things to sell would not raise anywhere near the funds needed. She watches his eyes widen as he imagines what gifts will await him on Christmas morning and feels horribly inadequate. Helen Allingham’s words ring in her ears.

‘A train set!’ He has clearly given it much consideration and Gwen’s heart breaks that she will be unable to fulfil his wish. For the last few Christmases she has been able to use the war to explain why there is so little in his stocking, so little under the tree. With factories commandeered for the war effort, there was never much to be had in the way of toys and trinkets, and what there was had been prohibitively expensive – but what will her excuse be this Christmas? Factories will be returning to normal. Families will be celebrating in style, reunited in peace after years of conflict and separation. She has no doubt there will be plentiful riches beneath the Allinghams’ tree. There would be treasures in abundance for Tom there. She cannot bear to think of it. Instead, she gently sweeps his blond hair into a parting.

‘That’s a very big gift, Tom. Probably best to set your sights on something a little smaller.’

When she lifts her head, she finds Jack watching her. He looks away.

‘Right, we’d best get on,’ Nora says, shunting back her chair and stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Still planning to sow Mere Field today?’

‘Yes, yes that’s right. Beans.’

‘Can I come, Mummy?’

‘Perhaps not today, Tom. Stay with Muriel.’

‘But I don’t want to, I want to come.’

‘Tom, we’re in Mere Field and I can’t keep a close enough eye on you if I’m working.’

‘I promise I’ll stay away from the water.’

‘You promised that last time, remember?’

‘What happened last time?’