‘That’s easy for you to say,’ she interrupted, snatching the handkerchief from him. ‘You didn’t give birth to him. You weren’t there when he got sick and …’ The words petered out as her emotions overwhelmed her.

‘I came home as soon as I could,’ he said, reaching for her again.

She jerked away from him, blew her nose and dashed away the tears before lighting a cigarette with trembling hands. ‘It was too late, Terence. Much too damned late.’

He hung his head, the sadness and guilt a weight on his soul that was almost unbearable. ‘There was a war on,’ he objected. ‘I couldn’t get back.’

She glared out of the window as she continued to smoke. ‘How very convenient,’ she snapped.

‘That’s not fair, Sandra – and you know it. I was in the middle of the bloody Atlantic Ocean when your telegram came. Of course I wanted to be with you.’

She shrugged, but Terence could see she knew full well how unreasonable she was being, but was reluctant to admit it.

Terence climbed out of the car and slammed the door. His patience was at breaking point, and he knew from past experience that words hastily said in such moments could be regretted for years to come. He stared out at the surrounding trees, his sight blurred by his tears as he thought of the little son he’d barely had time to get to know.

Michael had been born in the January after war had been declared, and Terence had received his call-up papers eight months later. Posted to a Royal Australian Navy hospital ship, he’d been at sea for almost two years when that awful telegram had been relayed to him, and although he’d been desperate to return home to Sandra, his circumstances had made it impossible.

Terence swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. He very much wanted things to be right between them again – and although another baby could never replace Michael, he had hoped Sandra would agree to at least trying for one. But she had undoubtedly suffered some sort of nervous breakdown during his long absence and he’d realised very quickly that another baby wasn’t the answer at all. Not that there was much hope of one all the while she refused to sleep with him.

He blinked back his tears. It seemed that, even now, she couldn’t forgive him for not being there when she’d needed him most – and he couldn’t really blame her, for his own guilt haunted him even though he’d had no choice in the matter.