She found it hard going back into the little terraced house, with Norm’s mom and dad sitting in their chairs – Edna knitting, Bill with the paper – asking them how they’d got on and where they’d gone. They were only being kind, they were good people, but she longed for an empty house, a house of their own where they didn’t have to answer to anyone.

Norm was very loving that night and Em woke later than usual, with no Robbie pulling at her. Though she found it a wrench leaving him, it was also a relief and she felt rested and content. She went down and made them both a cup of tea and, once they’d drunk it, luxuriously still in bed, Norm put his cup down and said, ‘Now then – come ’ere, Mrs Stapleton. You needn’t think I’ve finished with you!’

Their bed was two single beds pushed together, so they had to watch the crack down the middle. Giggling, hoping her in-laws next door couldn’t hear anything, Em snuggled up on Norm’s side of the bed, cuddling into his arms. They were soon making love again, and things felt close and warm just as they used to, before the war when they had had such a short time together as husband and wife. Maybe, Em thought, as she held her husband in her arms and they loved each other, maybe this time, we’ll make another baby . . .

She kissed Norm’s neck, the combination of soft skin and hard muscle beneath, which she loved.

‘Em,’ he nuzzled her. ‘You’re my girl, my woman, that’s what you are.’

She told him she loved him, over and over, stroking his back, his strong buttocks, and suddenly tears sprang into her eyes because things felt right again, when they had been tense for so long.

‘You glad to be home?’ she asked.

She saw the slightest hesitation before he said, ‘Course I am. Where else would I want to be, eh?’ He turned and looked at her. ‘You’re home to me. It wouldn’t matter where.’

They curled up together, warm and happy, and asked each other things about their long separation – things there had scarcely been time for, with all the adjustment to living that they had had to do. Norm told her more about some of his times in Italy, about how beautiful the country was.

Em smiled, listening, ‘I’m glad you liked it there. I always wondered – it seems so far away and so foreign. And then you didn’t write . . .’ She leaned on her elbow for a few seconds and looked down accusingly at him. ‘I was flaming worried.’ She pretended to thump him, then lay back down again in the warm.

‘Sorry,’ Norm said.

‘So you broke your leg? Falling off a truck?’ she snorted.

‘All right – you can laugh.’

‘Sorry, love . . .’ She stroked his bare tummy appeasingly. ‘Only what I don’t understand is what happened next. I thought you were in hospital – how come you got so ill?’