It certainly doesn’t, Molly thought. But she was touched, and couldn’t help liking Jane Lester with her pink nose and worn face. Her thoughts of rushing to find another job began to waver. After all, it could be out of the frying pan into the fire.

‘And you were here, you said, during the war?’

‘Yes!’ Molly felt herself lighting up. ‘Our battery was doing ack-ack training. I was lodging just off Marine Parade. I went to have a look at it this morning, you know, for old times’ sake.’

‘Fancy,’ Mrs Lester said. ‘All I did was join the WVS – but with Mother being so ill and Auntie Vi being rather demanding . . . I don’t know. I’m not a very courageous person, I’m afraid. Rather a mouse. Oh my goodness – is that all the bacon? That barely even looks like the ration to me.’ She turned suddenly to Molly. ‘I hope you don’t mind helping Bernard with the morning devotions?’

‘Oh,’ Molly hesitated. Did she mind? Yes! She found it all embarrassing. But she’d quite liked the singing, and she didn’t know any of these people who passed through the guesthouse. What did it matter? And she did like the feeling of pleasing people. Mr Lester even smiled at her occasionally now. ‘It’s all right. I expect I’ll get used to it.’

While out shopping, Molly had bought three postcards and some stamps. That evening, after a session with Jane Lester who had been teaching her ‘Love Divine, All Loves Excelling’ for the next morning, she sat on her bed in the attic room and wrote cards to Em and to Cath and Ruth, both of whom had been with her in the ATS. To the last two she wrote, ‘Here I am in Clacton again. Wish you were here!’

III

EM

Twenty-Seven

June 1946

‘Em, quick. Get down here – it’s for you!’

Em heard her mom’s voice shrieking up the stairs while she was getting Robbie ready. Heart pounding, she ran, picked up Robbie and, holding him on her hip, ran down the stairs.

‘What’s up?’

Cynthia, with trembling fingers, was holding out a telegram, and for a second Em stared, appalled, thinking the worst.

‘Well, take it!’ Cynthia cried.

Sinking onto a chair by the table, Robbie on her lap, she opened it up:

Reached London. Home soon. Norm.

‘Oh my God – he’s back in England!’ Em found she was breathless. She’d gone quite wobbly. ‘Ooh, I thought they must send him home soon. Oh, Robbie – you’re going to see your dad!’

Cynthia’s eyes were full of tears. ‘Oh, love – I’m so pleased for you!’ She too sat down suddenly. ‘Funny how you always think it’s going to be bad news, isn’t it?’

‘When’s my dad coming home?’ Robbie asked so many times that Em almost began to wish she hadn’t told him so soon. At three years old, now means now; not sometime soon, but I’m not sure when. ‘When’s he coming? When’s my dad coming?’ On and on. Em wondered if he even knew what a dad was.