Peggy wasn’t normally superstitious, but after the emotional whirlwind of the past two days, the sight of those broken shards of china seemed to augur impending doom. She looked down at them through welling tears, and bent to gather them together.

‘Ow! Damn and blast it,’ she hissed as a sharp splinter sliced into her finger.

‘Mum? Whatever’s the matter?’ asked Anne.

‘I broke the milk jug and cut myself,’ she replied, her voice choked with tears as she watched a bead of blood blossom on her finger. ‘So stupid of me to be so careless.’

Anne reached for the dustpan and brush which were kept under the sink. ‘It’s just a small jug, Mum,’ she said, calmly sweeping up the pieces. ‘And there was no milk in it, so there’s no reason to cry over it.’

‘I know, but that’s not the point,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve had the blasted thing for years.’

Anne put down the dustpan and brush and took her mother’s hand. ‘You’ll need a plaster on that,’ she said.

‘It’s nothing, really,’ she replied, desperately trying to stem her tears but failing miserably.

‘Then what is it, Mum?’ Anne asked softly, her brown eyes concerned. ‘Why are you so upset over some silly old jug?’

‘It’s not the jug,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m just upset that Fran’s feeling unwell and Ivy seems determined to rush about like a mad thing with no thought for the baby she’s carrying.’

Anne frowned and gave her a handkerchief. ‘Is that really all it is, Mum? Only I’ve had the sense that something’s been troubling you these past two days.’

Peggy could no longer hold back the great tide of sorrow and disappointment, and she all but collapsed against Anne. ‘It’s your father,’ she howled. ‘He won’t be home for Christmas.’

Anne held her close. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she sighed. ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier instead of bottling it all up like this?’

Now the dam had burst, Peggy felt slightly better and was able to check the tears and get her emotions back under control. She gently drew back from her daughter’s arms and mopped her face with the handkerchief.

Taking a deep breath, she released it on a long sigh. ‘The telegram came the evening of Rita’s party. Then there was the wedding, and all the comings and goings this morning. I couldn’t spoil things for everyone, could I?’

‘It was certainly bad timing,’ Anne murmured. ‘Did he say why he couldn’t come home?’

Peggy shook her head. ‘He promised to write and explain, so I’m hoping to get a letter very soon.’ Needing something to do, she took the dustpan from the table and emptied the broken crockery into the small rubbish bin she kept under the sink. ‘The bloody army better have a damned good reason for keeping him, that’s all I can say,’ she said fiercely.

Anne smiled and kissed her mother’s damp cheek. ‘Come on, Mum, let me find a plaster to put on that cut, and then I’ll make the tea. Will you be all right telling Grandma Cordy about Dad, or do you want me to do it?’