‘Oh, I’m glad to.’ Her smile was warm again now. It was such a reflex with her, being able to rally herself and change the subject. ‘What are best friends for?’

We sat talking and laughing over our meal, and I enjoyed watching her pretty face across the table, thinking how the war was beginning to bring things like this into focus, things we had taken for granted.

‘How’s dear Angus?’ she asked.

She often called him ‘dear Angus’, with a shading of irony in her voice.

‘He’s thriving. Loving the training. Of course I don’t see very much of him – we’re both so busy. And now, who knows what’s going to happen?’ In those early days of the war we were all galvanized by the expectation of being bombed or invaded any moment. ‘Do you think it’s all going to be over soon? Daddy’s taking a very pessimistic line: Fascism is the dark force of evil in our time and won’t be easily overthrown, and so on.’ I imitated my father’s sober Scots voice and Olivia grinned. ‘Feels so normal sitting here like this though, doesn’t it?’

‘All these gas masks and shelters and everything certainly bring it home though, don’t they?’ She grew solemn again, reverting to her own frustrations. ‘Honestly Katie. The only way I can see to get out of this is to get married. And that’s not much of a motive for giving your life to someone, is it?’

In November Granny Munro lay dying. Another stroke felled her so that she couldn’t speak and could barely move. She lay in her room, inert as lard, one side of her pallid face the only real register of her feelings.

Angus and I were able to spend time with her together one evening. We sat leaning forward so she could see us, the room lit only by the low sidelight on her bedside table. I held hands with her, with Angus on my other side. My emotions were very mixed. Here I was with two of the people I loved best in the world, together in this strange, silent intimacy. Granny’s eyes moved over our faces. Her hair was white now and thinner. She was less considerable in size. I hadn’t seen Angus for some time and was acutely aware of the novelty of his presence beside me: the soft curve of skin I loved at the back of his neck where the hairline ended, his hand warm on mine, eyes serious and affectionate.

Coal burned with a hiss in the grate. We talked softly from time to time, both of us telling her about our different jobs: my patients, Angus’s hours cutting sheets of metal into fine shapes with a tiny fretsaw. We knew she liked to hear. Eventually her eyes closed.

‘We’ll be back soon,’ I said softly. I laid her hand on the bedcovers. ‘I’ll bring you up some soup later.’

Outside the door we stopped and put our arms round each other.