I hadn’t even known I had an uncle Jimmy. Nobody had ever told me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was a horrible war. Let’s pray there will never be another one.”

“There won’t, as long as the old king stays alive. If he kicks the bucket, all bets are off.”

He put a large plate of food in front of me and for a while I was silent.

“Blimey,” he said. “You can certainly knock that back. You been starving yourself?”

“Living on baked beans,” I confessed. “I haven’t found a grocer’s shop yet in Belgravia. Everyone has things delivered. And frankly I don’t have any money.”

“Then you’d better come down here and have Sunday dinner with me. I expect I could manage a roast and two veg—got lovely cabbages in the back garden, and of course later in the summer there will be beans. Can’t do any better than that, even at your fancy posh restaurants in the West End.”

“I’d love to, Granddad,” I said and I realized that he needed me as much as I needed him at the moment. He was lonely too.

“I don’t like the thought of you living in that big house all on your own,” he said, shaking his head. “Some funny types up in the Smoke these days. Not quite right in the head after the war. Don’t you go opening the door to any strangers, you hear? I’ve a good mind to get out my old uniform and patrol up and down outside your front door.”

I laughed. “I’d like to see that. I’ve never seen you in uniform.” I knew that my grandfather had been a policeman once, but he’d given it up long ago.

He gave a wheezy laugh. “I’d like to see it too. My jacket would never button up around my middle these days, and my old feet would never hold up in those boots. But I still don’t like the thought of you trying to survive in that big place on your own.”

“I’ll be fine, Granddad.” I patted his hand. “So teach me how to light a fire. Teach me how to do the washing up. I need to know everything.”

“Lighting a fire starts with going down the coal’ole,” he said.

“The coal’ole?”

“Yes, you know. They pour in the coal from a manhole on the street and you shovel it out through a little door at the bottom. I’m sure you’ll find that’s the way it’s done at your place. But it’s usually dark and dirty and there are bound to be spiders. I can’t see you wanting to do that.”

“If it’s a choice between getting dirty and freezing, I’ll choose getting dirty.”

He turned to look back at me. “I must say I like your spunk. Just like your mother. She’d let nothing stand in her way either.” He broke off with another fit of noisy coughing.

“That cough sounds terrible,” I said. “Have you been to a doctor?”