Doris lifted the hat from its box and carefully placed it just so on her head. Turning this way and that she gave a little sigh of satisfaction. The hat was navy with a broad cream ribbon tied in a bow at the side of the crown, and edging the wide brim, and as her cream dress and coat were piped with navy, it was just perfect. She had hoped Sally would make her wedding outfit, but she’d been so busy, Doris had been forced to find someone else, but the woman had proved to be most proficient, and Doris had been delighted with the result when she’d gone for her final fitting.

She returned the hat to its box and placed it on top of her wardrobe, eager now to see John and tell him all about her successful day – although she wasn’t looking forward to showing him Michael’s letter. Changing into more comfortable shoes and slipping on a cardigan, she went into her kitchen and collected the bowl of raspberries and the Woolton pie she’d made this morning for their supper and carried it next door.

John was in the sitting room, a sulky fire smouldering in the hearth, his face ashen and lined with pain. ‘Hello, my love,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry, but I can’t get up. The pills seem to have worn off.’

Doris quickly put the pie in the oven and hunted out the pills. Fetching a glass of water, she went back to him. ‘I really do think I should call the doctor again,’ she said fretfully. ‘There must be something he can do to get you right.’

John swallowed the pills and gave a sigh. ‘There isn’t really,’ he replied. ‘I damaged my back in the trenches shortly before the end of the First War. The medic got the shrapnel out, but the muscles around the spine were never quite the same, and when they go into spasm, I’m as helpless as a kitten.’

‘Oh, John. I so wish there was something I could do to help.’

‘A cup of tea would go down a treat, if you wouldn’t mind, my dear, and once these pills kick in, I’m sure I’ll be right as rain.’ He caught her hand and smiled. ‘Have you had a good day, my darling?’

‘I’ll get that tea and then tell you all about it,’ she said, kissing his brow before hurrying into the kitchen.

She hated seeing him brought so low with the pain, for John was a vibrant, energetic man when he was well, and the knowledge that the letter she had to show him would do nothing to raise his spirits made her hesitate. She eyed the gas ring on the cooker, wondering if she should just burn the damned thing and pretend it had never arrived – and then was forced to accept she wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt, so made the tea and carried it on a tray into the sitting room.