We crossed the busy station forecourt, both starting to talk at once and trailing off into embarrassed laughter.

‘You first,’ I said.

‘Look – ’ His handsome face grew serious and rather rueful. ‘I’m sorry for not looking you up before. I’ve thought a lot about you since I saw you. It was a bit of a failure of courage on my part, I’m afraid.’

I was disarmed by this admission. ‘I’m so glad you did get in touch. It’s very good to see you again.’ And I meant it, I had forgotten how attractive he was, with his combination of wit and vulnerability.

‘Your father – ’ Douglas turned to look at me. ‘It must have been a terrible blow to you. What happened?’

‘His heart gave out. Overwork, I suppose. He’s always had quite good health actually but he worked so hard, and since the war started he’s not let up at all.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Douglas said again. As we stepped outside he laid a hand gently on my shoulder to guide me through the crowds at the door.

We carried our warm newspaper parcels, strolling down through what remained of the Bull Ring. It was a melancholy sight in the half light, quieter than it would ever have been in peacetime, the bombed shells of buildings round us filled with queer shadows. Droves of starlings circled the wreckage of St Martin’s, shrieking sadly.

A couple of boys appeared out of the gloom, tearing past us.

‘Peg-a-leg!’ they shouted at Douglas. ‘Cripple!’ They disappeared behind us.

‘D’you want to catch the bus?’ Douglas asked ruefully.

I felt embarrassed for him. ‘I was rather enjoying walking – that’s if it’s not difficult for you. Does it hurt to walk?’

‘Oh, no – no pain,’ he said, his sardonic voice back again. ‘I just look like an inebriated clown as soon as I set foot, that’s all. In present company I’d enjoy a walk too. That’s if you don’t mind being seen out with me?’

‘Of course I don’t mind. You mustn’t think that.’

‘I get a fair bit of what we’ve just heard.’ He jerked his thumb in the direction the boys had gone.

‘It must be ghastly.’

‘Oh, don’t you start!’ he protested cheerfully. ‘I can stand the abuse, but for heaven’s sake don’t pity me.’

‘OK. Subject closed.’

We cut up along Cheapside, climbing the steep slope up to Camp Hill. Douglas chatted about work, performing such comical impersonations of his colleagues that they came alive in front of me, and soon I was laughing as I’d begun to think I’d never laugh again. I felt warmed by the thick chips and crisp battered fish, and temporarily uplifted. It was a still evening, with the last waning light of summer. The factories throbbed on either side of us, their high grimy sides towering over us, half muffled by sandbags. A truck reversed out from a gate in front of us and roared off up the road.