‘Well, enough for a long weekend, I’d say,’ Ruth laughed, looking around her. ‘This is lovely! It must feel like old times, moving from camp to camp!’

Molly was becoming a regular in summer-camp jobs – this time at Bracklesham Bay, a Pontin’s camp near Chichester.

‘In some ways . . .’ Molly grimaced. ‘Not in others, though. But it’s all right. Keeps me going.’

‘You look very well on it – all bronzed and healthy. How’s the swimming coming on?’

‘All right – I get a bit of practice in my time off.’ One of the lads at a Butlin’s camp where Molly had worked last year had started teaching her to swim, and she loved being in the water and how good she felt afterwards. ‘We can go in a bit, if you like. You can swim outdoors or in – take your pick! Here we are, look.’

They reached the cabin that Ruth had rented for a long weekend. Ruth lifted the strap of her shoulder bag over her head and put it down, looked around inside the little cabin with its simple furniture, excited as a child.

‘Oh, this is so nice!’ She turned from looking out of the little window. ‘It’s wonderful to be here. I love Cambridge dearly, but it can be a bit of a hothouse.’

Molly smiled. It was a constant source of wonder to her that Ruth kept in touch, still apparently wanted to be her friend.

‘But you’ve just been to France – that must’ve been a lot more exciting?’

Ruth had been on a jaunt with two Cambridge friends.

‘Oh yes, it was nice, of course – and that reminds me . . .’ She went and unfastened the buckle on her bag and pulled out a little package. ‘For you: from gay Paree!’

‘Oh, Ruth!’ Molly was overcome. ‘For me? That’s ever so kind of you . . .’ Unwrapping it, she found a cream silk scarf with a red border and Parisian scenes drawn on it in dark-blue ink and coloured with patches of turquoise. ‘That’s beautiful – is that the Eiffel Tower?’

‘Yes, and the Arc de Triomphe and NotreDame – I thought the colours would suit you. There . . .’ She snaked it round Molly’s neck. ‘It looks lovely!’

Molly was delighted. ‘It’ll dress up anything, that will – oh, thank you!’

‘Don’t mention it. Now, why don’t you show me around?’

Molly had made sure she had a day off while Ruth was staying, though it was the busiest holiday season and she was working hard a lot of the time.

‘Bloody cooking again!’ she groaned as she and Ruth at last got some time to relax together on Saturday afternoon. They sat at the edge of the little boating pool, dangling their feet in the water and drinking in the sunshine. ‘I never get away from it, do I? Course, once you’ve done it before – like I did at Butlin’s last year – they just want you to do it again. Breakfast’s the worst: two shifts, so you’re always trying to hurry the first lot to get out, so that the next lot can get in. It’s bedlam!’