Doris shook her head. ‘I’m staying here.’

He nodded curtly and strode away, leaving Doris numb, icily cold and unable to think straight. Her world was crashing around her, and there seemed to be nothing she could do to stop it.

‘Do you think we ought to try and contact Michael?’ asked Peggy hesitantly.

‘I don’t want him here,’ hissed Doris, clutching Peggy’s arm. ‘And there’s no need. John’s fit and strong and a few broken bones won’t kill him.’

‘I’m sure that’s the case,’ said Peggy. ‘But Michael has to be told, Doris. He’s enemy enough without you keeping something like this from him.’ She shifted in the hard chair. ‘Do you have a telephone number for him?’

Doris shook her head. ‘I only know he’s a major at Catterick – or he was before Christmas.’

‘Then that will have to do. Will you be all right on your own while I pop across the road to the Anchor to make the call?’

Doris nodded, too upset to speak.

Time passed slowly as she sat there huddled into her misery and fear, and although a probationer had brought her a cup of tea it was sitting on the floor at her feet untouched.

‘Well, now, Doris,’ said Ron, plumping down and putting his arm round her shoulders. ‘’Tis awful about John, but we must stay positive. The doctors here are ruddy marvels, and your man is as fit as a flea. He’ll pull through, I’ve no doubt of it.’

‘I wish I could be so sure,’ she murmured, glad to see him even though they’d never really got on. ‘Did Peggy manage to get hold of Michael?’

‘She left a message with some chap at the barracks. It turns out he’s been sent to West Germany as part of the British Army security presence. I suspect he’ll be flown home immediately.’

Doris closed her eyes. It was bad enough knowing that John was at this moment under the knife, without the added pressure of his unpleasant son turning up.

Peggy hurried away from the factory in Camden Road, relieved that Daisy would be kept on at the crèche and fed if necessary, and that Solly had been so understanding of her leaving her post at the factory so abruptly. Knowing Ron was keeping Doris company, she quickly drove home, made some potted meat sandwiches and a flask of tea, and told Cordelia what had happened.

She’d had to be rather firm with Cordelia, for the arthritis was particularly bad today and Peggy didn’t want her going out in the appalling weather, or sitting around in draughty hospital corridors. Promising she’d telephone the minute she had any news, she drove back to the hospital to discover that Doris and Ron were now in the relatives’ room, but there was no sign of Michael. John was still in surgery, and probably would be for several more hours, but the surgeon was evidently pleased with his progress.

Peggy hugged her sister, appalled at how she’d aged in the last hour or so, and how small and defenceless she looked suddenly. Coaxing her into drinking some tea, she offered her a sandwich and wasn’t surprised when she pushed it away.