‘Oh dear,’ Ruth said as Peter got up to switch off the wireless. ‘It’s so awful not knowing what’s going to happen.’

‘Well, let’s face it, you never know that at the best of times,’ Peter said, clicking the round dial to cut off the radio announcer and picking up his glass again.

‘It doesn’t seem to matter as much normally, though,’ Ruth said. Then she jumped up from her chair. ‘Anyway, let’s not be miserable on Angus’s last night at home. Come on through and eat, everybody.’

We tried to keep the war out of the conversation as Ruth dished up beef casserole and potatoes and homegrown carrots and greens. We talked of the past, of childhood, until we were all laughing and joking. John and Mary both stayed quiet, though they joined in the laughter, Mary watching us all with her heart-shaped face and serious eyes.

After we had talked over coffee and it grew late, they left us alone.

‘I know you’ll be thinking of Angus and praying for him as much as we shall,’ Ruth said to me before she retired.

‘Of course.’ I smiled at her.

She laid her hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes, and I saw Angus’s eyes in hers. ‘It’s a great support to us to know that, Katie.’

Peter Harvey gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘If we don’t see you again before you go back to work, come round when you can, won’t you?’

They were as tactful and generous as it was possible to be. If I had stayed there all night with Angus I felt they would have passed no comment. They were open-minded people, and in any case, the war changed so many things.

‘Are you scared?’

‘Not scared, I don’t think. Just nervous. A bit excited in a way.’

We lay side by side on the plump green eiderdown on Angus’s bed. His arm was round my shoulders and I rested my head on his chest.

‘I hate the idea of you doing something so dangerous. Couldn’t you have chosen something a bit less heroic?’

‘Well, that’d make a change for me, wouldn’t it?’ His tone was ironic, almost bitter.

‘What d’you mean?’ I half sat up and looked at him. ‘I don’t understand why you seem to feel – well, whatever it is you do feel – not very able physically, or a coward or something. It’s just not true. Is it because of William, because he’s always trying to put you down?’

Angus shrugged. ‘There are things everyone feels they have to prove, I suppose. I need to be able to know I can do this. It’s a challenge. And I’ve always wanted to learn to fly.’

‘Yes, I’d almost forgotten.’ I looked round the softly lit room. Like the rest of the house it was cluttered. There were old models, childhood preoccupations: a de Havilland DH–4 bomber, Bristol fighter, planes from the last war settled like moths on Angus’s bookshelf, fuselages resting on school exercise books, volumes of poetry, encyclopaedias.