As if in a dream, she walked along to Kenilworth Street, memories flooding back of the neighbours: Jenny and Stanley Button, who had been so kind to her and who had been killed in the bombing; the elderly twins who ran the sweet shop; Dot Wiggins, another kind neighbour who was now happily remarried to her Italian husband, Lou, in Duddesdon nearby; and of course the Browns, Em and the rest, the family she would have liked to have grown up in, instead of her blighted one. She hesitated at the entrance to one of the back yards where her family had lived for a time. The entry still looked the same, dark and dingy. And there was the ghost of her younger self sidling out onto the street, arms itching with eczema and impetigo, clothes smelly, trying to join in the street games with the other children, hoping and praying they’d let her have a go . . . All of it filled her now with a sense of rage, a furious sadness for her younger self.

I can’t come back and live here, she thought. I’ll go anywhere – but not here.

Pulling herself together, she stood up straight and went across to knock on the Browns’ door. It was Em who opened it, an older-looking but still sweet-faced Em, with her straight brown hair and freckled nose. She held the door back, bewildered at first, then gasped, beaming with pleasure.

‘Molly! Oh my word!’ She rushed to hug her. ‘Come on in – I knew you’d turn up one day. Took your flaming time, didn’t you?’

Twenty-Four

The Browns’ house looked exactly as Molly had always remembered it, and she found this both a comfort and a bit depressing at the same time. She had been here on and off throughout the war, whenever she could, but as she followed Em through to the back kitchen, saw the table and chairs, the stove, the same plates and pots on the shelves, and Em’s mom Cynthia sitting at the table with the family’s ration books in front of her, she found herself wondering how so little could have changed, when she had been so far and seen so much.

‘Guess who’s here, Mom!’ Em announced, though Cynthia was already looking up to greet her.

‘Hello, love!’ Cynthia cried, delighted. Molly went over and gave her a kiss. Cynthia had been like a mom to her. ‘You back for good now, are you?’

‘Well, the army’ve had enough of me,’ Molly joked.

‘Here, sit down – Em’ll bring you a cup of tea. Don’t you look well – it’s suited you, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Molly said, thinking this was an understatement indeed. She knew she looked more healthy and better fed than most of the civilians. She saw that Cynthia had aged a good deal since she’d last seen her, her skin looking tired and her once-dark brown hair a long way towards grey. But her dark eyes were still full of life.