‘I must be off,’ I said.

‘Of course. Of course. It was good of you to come.’ He was flustered, eager to please.

As I left, he and Elizabeth were full of wide smiles and good wishes. Olivia and I finally got away from them, and we held each other out on the cold of the steps. Her arms were almost convulsively tight round me.

‘Look – are you really sure you’re all right?’ I asked. ‘You don’t look it at all.’

‘Perfectly. I’ll be better when I’m back to work.’ There was an unflinching braveness in her voice.

I could see she wasn’t prepared to say any more. I kissed her. ‘Keep well, Livy. See you soon. Try and write more often, eh?’ I spoke half jokingly and didn’t receive any promise in reply.

She stood waving by the door, a tiny wisp of a thing, her belt pulling in all the loose tucks of material at her waist. The sight of her frightened me. I could see she wasn’t well, but it was more than that. It was as if something in her had frozen, and she couldn’t help it or explain. I wanted to stay, to try and help her.

But she vanished from me again as if swallowed up by the navy and her letters were as sparse and infrequent as ever. It was a long time before I saw her again.

Chapter 14

Birmingham, 1942

I remember that morning in small details: frosted windows between the criss-crossed tape, the slightly knobbly cotton of my old nightie, my blurred impression of the sepia and white wallpaper. It was February, freezing, and I was still in bed, reluctant to face the chill room. I was making the most of the fact that it was Saturday and that I didn’t have to go in for lectures: Acts of parliament affecting health and social welfare, hygiene, breastfeeding. I lay half awake, wishing Simmons was still around to come and build a fire in the bedroom, though I was ashamed of this wish. The war gave us a new awareness of the old order of things. Why should Simmons be my lackey?

Then feet hammering urgently up the stairs.

‘Kate – come down quickly!’ My mother’s face was pale and taut.

‘What’s happened?’

She couldn’t face saying any more. My numbness began even then. I put on my dressing gown, fastening the buttons with extreme care, delaying going down. Icy air gusted up the stairs. I could see out to the garden. Dry leaves scratched in over the step and the laurels shuddered in the wind. Only as she saw me did my mother regain the presence of mind to close the front door.

Ruth Harvey stared up at me, her face very still and white. She was holding a creamy sheet of paper.

‘No!’ I shrieked, as if at a torturer. ‘Oh no no no. Please no!’ I sank down in the middle of the staircase.

‘Kate,’ Mummy said sternly. ‘Control yourself, for heaven’s sake.’