‘I’m grateful to you, Nora, for the help you’ve given me over the past few years. But I’ll remind you, I’ve paid you for that work, all of it, including the rare times you’ve watched Tom for me. It’s time for you to go. I cannot have you in this house any longer. Not behaving the way you did last night.’

‘He said no … your darling Jack said no … Christ knows why. There’s no chance of thawing you out.’

‘Pack your things, Nora.’

‘With pleasure.’

Gwen follows her as she stomps up the stairs, making enough noise to wake the dead – certainly enough to wake Tom. Ducking into his room, she finds him sitting up in bed, sleepily rubbing his eyes, wanting to know what the ruckus is about.

‘Nora’s leaving us, Tom. I always told you she would one day, and now the war’s over she doesn’t need to stay.’

‘Now Daddy’s back.’

‘That’s right.’ She kisses his forehead. ‘You stay in bed … it’s early yet, too early for you to be up.’

‘But if Nora’s going, I want to say goodbye.’

‘I’ll tell her for you.’ She tucks him back under the covers.

Nora storms downstairs with the single suitcase she arrived with. She retrieves her overcoat from the peg by the back door.

‘This treatment of me is unforgiveable.’

‘Your behaviour last night was unacceptable,’ Gwen retorts, unfazed by her vitriol. ‘You must have known there’d be consequences.’

They both jump as the back door bursts open. Muriel blusters in with a basket over her arm.

‘Oh!’ Her eyes dart quizzically between them, before settling on the case at Nora’s feet. ‘Oh,’ she repeats, turning sober, but she passes no further comment as she deposits her basket on the table.

Nora picks up her suitcase. ‘Well, I’d love to say it’s been wonderful, but I’d be lying. Goodbye, Gwen, goodbye, Muriel.’

She slams the door behind her.

The breath Gwen has been holding hisses through her teeth like air from a punctured tyre. She rubs her face.

‘Should I ask?’ Muriel waits expectantly.

‘I caught Nora propositioning Jack last night.’ She hesitates. ‘He didn’t know I was there … that I was listening. I heard Nora creep out. I followed her.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing. He turned her down.’

‘And you turned her out.’ Muriel makes a dismissive sound as she pulls out the paraffin drawer on the range. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.’

‘Don’t you think it’s strange … that he turned her away like that? She was offering herself on a plate.’

‘A plate a good many have supped from if I know anything,’ Muriel retorts sharply, but she relents when she sees Gwen’s troubled expression. ‘No,’ she says at last, her voice softening. ‘I don’t think it’s strange. I don’t think it’s strange at all.’