As they sipped their drinks, Win and Ruth talked about university life and, having most in common, soon fell into conversation. Molly found herself being looked at closely from the left by Phoebe Morrison.

‘So,’ she puffed out smoke. ‘Did you say you’re working in camps?’

‘Yes, Miss, er . . . Morrison . . .’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, do call me Phoebe. We’re not in the army now.’

‘I’m at Butlin’s,’ Molly said, thinking it sounded silly. ‘Skegness at the moment – but I’ve been at Clacton. Before that I was in a boarding house.’

‘Ah yes, I think I’d heard that. Clacton – fancy that. Has it changed much?’

She asked her questions in a clipped way, seeming ill at ease.

‘Well, yes a bit. The beach is open – the hotels have all opened up as well . . . And the camps are very busy. There are lots of holidaymakers now.’

‘Ah yes. Well, no doubt you have a lot of fun and are kept busy.’

‘Busy enough,’ Molly agreed. She sipped some more of her cooling coffee. ‘You should come – have a holiday yourself.’

Phoebe Morrison gave a snort of laughter. ‘Ah well, perhaps!’

There was a pause, so Molly asked, ‘And where are you working, er . . . Phoebe?’

‘Oh, Civil Service: roads and transport. Very dull. Well, I say that – it has its moments of course. There is at least some purpose in it.’ Abruptly she asked, ‘What shall you do in the winter? Presumably the camps don’t stay open all the year?’ She pulled out another cigarette and lit up. Molly heard Win laugh at something Ruth had said.

‘I don’t know,’ Molly said. ‘I’ll just have to think of something.’

Win, who was looking at her now, leaned across the table. ‘Perhaps we should all come down in the summer and work at Butlin’s too? They take students, don’t they?’

‘Er – yes,’ Molly said. She thought about some of the behaviour of the other staff, the fights and rivalries, the state of some of the kitchens. ‘I’m not sure you’d like it really, Win.’

Win laughed. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

They sat talking for an hour or so, before Win said they would really have to be going. Molly was relieved. She had found it hard going with Phoebe Morrison, despite being very pleased to see her. All in all, the meeting had made her feel sad. Phoebe’s crustiness seemed to stand out more now than it had in the army, where it merged with her commanding role. And apart from her work, she had very little to talk about.

Molly sensed in her an aching loneliness, akin to that she felt herself. Of course, it was not the done thing to miss the war. Everyone had to be glad it was over, overjoyed to be getting on with their lives – getting married, having families, building a life. But what if you were not destined for any of those things? She could see that Phoebe missed the army with the same endless ache as she did herself, knowing, as she felt it all slipping away, that it had been the best time of her life, and that it was over now. And that somehow you had to go on.