Towards the end of the evening, Marjorie came breezing over and said to me, ‘Ah, Katie, darling – I see you’ve been looking after poor Douglas.’

‘Oh yes,’ Douglas said in a mock pitiful voice. ‘She’s a proper little Florence Nightingale.’

Marjorie couldn’t work out what we were both laughing about.

As we were leaving I moved towards the door with Douglas. I could tell he was painfully conscious that I was seeing his rocking, distorted walk for the first time. With an effort, and taking refuge in his tone of self-mockery, he said, ‘I don’t suppose you’d consider seeing me again?’

I knew I couldn’t hold back from saying yes and giving my address for his sake. But I knew I was doing it as much for my own. As we parted, shaking hands, our eyes met and Douglas smiled, his face transformed from the sad, rather uncertain expression to one that was warm and hopeful.

After I’d thanked Marjorie I said, ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your brother.’

She reddened, her only hint of emotion. ‘These things are sent to try us, I suppose.’

Brenda joined me outside, glowing from the warmth of the room and her dancing. ‘That Susan’s a good laugh – we’re going to Ivy Benson’s tea dance next week if my duty hours fit in with it.’ She did a little twirl on the pavement. ‘That was the best evening I’ve had in ages,’ she said as we made our way carefully along the blacked-out street.

‘Yes,’ I said, surprising myself. ‘Me too.’

Chapter 16

Birmingham, 1944

‘Dr Williamson?’

I can’t say I’d have been pleased to see him at the best of times, and his presence on our doorstep in the early evening foretold trouble. He walked in brusquely with barely a glance at me, saying, ‘Is your mother in?’

I showed him into the front room. Mummy was at the back with Gladys Peck and the children. Gladys, a young mother with skin the colour of curdled milk, had come to us from South London to escape the flying bombs.

‘Winifred,’ Dr Williamson said, stroking his little moustache uneasily, ‘you’d better sit down.’

Mummy wasn’t keen on Dr Williamson either. ‘I don’t wish to sit down,’ she said. ‘What’s the trouble?’

‘Very bad news, I’m afraid. It’s Bill. He collapsed at the surgery – his heart.’ He paused, looking down at the floor. ‘I’m afraid he died in the ambulance. I got here as soon as I could.’ My first thought was how much better Daddy would have handled this, his gift with his patients.

My mother stood rigid. She said nothing. Her knees buckled and I helped her to a chair.

Dr Williamson looked monstrously uncomfortable. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

Mummy stared ahead of her as if hypnotized. Then she came to herself and without turning her head said, ‘No. Thank you.’

Dr Williamson cleared his throat. ‘He would have been proud to die in harness,’ he offered.