The two-up, two-down cottage had a large double room with a window in the gable end that gave on to beautiful views of Cartmel Forest, while the second smaller room, next to a tiny but serviceable bathroom, looked out over the farm fields, where a herd of sheep and their young were grazing on the rich grass. The larger room had an old-fashioned wooden bed, with a matching wardrobe and set of drawers, while the smaller room had a small wardrobe and not much else. At the bottom of the steep flight of stairs was a sweet parlour with an open fire and a small cottage three-piece suite. Last of all was the kitchen, which was a delight. There was a rocking chair beside an old-fashioned black range that kept the room snug and cosy, a large wooden table scrubbed spotlessly clean and an ancient slop sink with a pump handle to provide running water for washing and cooking. Pretty pottery hung from a neat little dresser, and cooking utensils dangled from hooks over the range.

‘It’s just lovely,’ Ada sighed as she sank into the rocking chair and gratefully accepted a cup of scalding hot tea.

‘It’s that all right,’ the old lady agreed. ‘If you’re as happy here as me and my husband were, you won’t go far wrong,’ she said, with an emotional catch in her voice. ‘For sure it will be a good place to start a family,’ she added as her eyes lingered on Ada’s swollen tummy. ‘I wish you all the luck in the world.’

9. One Last Ditch

After her last emotional conversation with the Brigadier, Sybil resorted to desperate measures. There was only one thing that ever worked with Monty and that was sex. She could have kicked herself for being so cold with him on his last visit to the Home; he had certainly lusted after her then, but she had in no uncertain terms rejected his advances. Not a good move, she crossly told herself. Though she hadn’t seen Monty since, she instinctively sensed that he was cooling, which inevitably meant she was losing control of him. At her wits’ end, Sybil reasoned that if she could entice Monty back to Mary Vale she might make up for her foolhardy rejection of him and bring him round (one way or another) to her way of thinking.

Even with the vagabond evacuee kids out of the way, Sybil was finding the atmosphere in the Home stifling, and the sight of the ill-bred, ill-educated, dreary residents dragging themselves around was starting to make her feel hysterical.

‘I have to get out of this hole before I die of bloody boredom,’ Sybil muttered through gritted teeth. ‘I have to get away.’