On the way back they walked in silence for a few minutes, and the men seemed lost in thought.

‘Why did you leave the camp?’ she asked, thinking there they could be among their own people, the comfort of it.

‘Too much camp,’ Piotr said.

‘We will have to leave one day,’ Marek said. ‘We want to find job, have life in house and street – find woman!’

Again, the bluntness startled her. ‘Not a Polish woman?’

‘Um, perhaps,’ Piotr said with a grin. ‘But for Poles, there is shortage. Too many soldiers – not so many women.’

‘Ah,’ Katie said, then laughed suddenly as they were approaching Sybil’s house. ‘I think I might have the answer for you.’

Standing by their front gate, very obviously waiting, were Mrs Arbuckle and Susan, all in their Sunday finery. Both of them wore wide-brimmed hats made of white straw. As the four of them came up to the house, the Arbuckles’ attention was riveted by them.

‘Woo-hoo – good morning!’ Edna called out. She was wearing a voluminous purple frock. Susan’s was of a swirling pink-and-white pattern. Both were smiling broadly. ‘We were just off to church! I don’t think we’ve been introduced?’ She stepped into their path.

‘Morning, Mrs Arbuckle,’ Katie said. ‘These are Miss Routh’s new lodgers: this is Mr . . .’ Once again she realized she had no idea what their surnames were and was sure that, even if she had, she would not have been able to pronounce them. ‘Mr Piotr. And Mr Marek. This is Mrs Arbuckle from next door – and Miss Arbuckle.’

‘Oh, you can call her Susan – we don’t need to stand on ceremony!’ Edna seemed almost overcome by the two strong handshakes she received, the polite nods.

‘How d’you do?’ they both said. In the sunlight Katie realized suddenly just how handsome Marek was, his eyes a vivid blue. And Piotr looked strong and masculine. Susan appeared shy and uncomfortable when faced with the two of them, but her mother was smiling from ear to ear.

‘Well, we are pleased to meet you,’ she gushed. And, after dithering for a few seconds, ‘Well, we’d better be off. Come along, Susan.’

As they turned to the house, Sybil was coming out as well. She smiled.

‘Ah, so you’ve been introduced, have you? Mrs Arbuckle is our neighbour – and she is looking for a husband for her daughter . . .’ Sybil limped on past them. ‘I expect one of you would like to volunteer? Cheerio, I’m off to church. See you later.’

Marek and Piotr were looking rather bewildered.

‘What did she say?’ Piotr asked.

Suppressing a smile, Katie said, ‘She thinks one of you ought to marry Susan.’

The boys looked alarmed.

‘Oh, not me!’ Piotr said.

‘No, not me,’ Marek added. ‘I don’t think this is right lady for me.’

Katie grinned then. ‘Don’t you think so? Well, maybe not.’

The fine weather drew everyone outside that afternoon, and Sybil was happy for them to be in the garden. Her whole approach to life seemed to be communal, like a puppy that likes to lie in a heap. The top end of the long garden, with the old shed extending from the back of the house and a brick path running alongside it, was baking hot today. Further down grew two large apple trees, both dense and in need of pruning, and so close together that the ends of their branches were entangled, making a kind of bower, which cast a cool shade over the grass. Katie settled there with Michael on an old rug, trying to read him storybooks they had borrowed from the library, but his attention kept wandering to the bottom of the garden, to where the two Poles had been drawn, as if to a magnet, by Sybil’s large vegetable patch.