Katie stood beside Marek in the packed church and listened to the Mass, full of happiness. How much joy she had in her life suddenly! She wondered if her father was at Mass tonight, whether he was thinking of her. Every so often Marek looked round at her and smiled, reaching to squeeze her hand. She was moved by the tender, wounded look on his face and ached for them all, for their family, wondering what memories of past Christmases the Mass was bringing back to them. She saw Agnieska, the other side of Marek, wipe tears from her eyes. The night was a clear, cold one, and they moved out into its starriness after the Mass and embraced, wishing each other a Happy Christmas, and walked home, arm in arm, four abreast.

Originally the plan was for Agnieska to be wrested from the grasp of the Arbuckles for Christmas dinner, until Sybil suggested inviting them round as well and pooling resources. The Arbuckles were delighted and promised to bring a magnificent Christmas pudding they had made months ago, having saved their rations for the purpose. Everyone mucked in with the preparations. Sybil got the joint in before her church service, and all morning and well into the afternoon the delicious smell of beef slowly roasting seeped into all the nooks and crannies of the house, soon to be joined by the smell of roasting potatoes after she returned, and was soon warbling ‘It came upon a midnight clear’ and ‘O come, all ye faithful!’ in the kitchen, quite tunefully.

Katie and Agnieska had prepared the other vegetables and now laid the table for the eight of them. She was touched by the way Agnieska seemed to have fastened onto her immediately as a big sister. As they laid the knives and forks, she kept wondering about Marek’s and Agnieska’s sister. Hadn’t he said they had another sister? And what about the rest of the family? It didn’t seem right to pry. Instead, she said, ‘What was it like in the camp – in Gloucestershire, I mean?’

Agnieska was putting the cutlery down very precisely. She looked up. ‘The camp? Oh – is OK. We have many things . . . er, Polish things – dancing and, er, priest, and we are working, learning English . . . I live in umm, beczka – Marek what is . . . ?’

‘Hut,’ Marek said. He was at the piano, with Michael on his lap, teaching him to play. ‘Nissen hut – like army.’

‘Oh yes, I see, ‘Katie said. ‘I don’t suppose they were very comfortable.’

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘But OK. We have live like this long time now . . .’

‘Right,’ Sybil called from the kitchen. ‘Someone go and tell the Arbuckles it’s dinner time, will you?’

The meal was delicious. All the women wore their best frocks, Susan Arbuckle’s being a spectacular pink silky creation, very tight across the bust.