Tom stayed with them for over an hour, packing boxes, wrapping parcels, tying string, and chatting on entertainingly all the while.

Grace was glad of his presence, knowing her son’s buoyancy was relaxing Amelia. She chastised herself for having been overly pushy with the poor woman. She certainly hadn’t intended to be. It had just seemed like a good idea at the time, but she wouldn’t bring up the subject of billeting again.

‘I think that’s it for the day,’ she said, checking the clock on the wall. They’d completed their customary four-hour stint. ‘Tom, dear, would you mind accompanying Mrs Sanderson home —’

‘No, no,’ Amelia hastily interrupted, flushing as she did so. How embarrassing that her complaints of nervousness should make Grace feel she needed to be shepherded about town. ‘That’s not necessary, Grace,’ she insisted firmly, ‘that’s really not necessary.’

‘I know it’s not,’ Grace countered with equal firmness, ‘but you have a bag of groceries that Tom can carry on his bike, so it seems only practical to me. And Tom doesn’t mind, do you, dear?’

‘Nup.’ That grin again. ‘Happy to be of service, Mrs Sanderson.’

‘That’s settled, then,’ Grace rose to her feet, ‘off we go.’

As she sailed out the door, the others obediently following, Grace couldn’t help but reflect upon the apparent change in her own character, or rather in the way she must surely be perceived by others. Not long ago it was she who would have been seen as the weaker woman in need of support, and yet here she was taking on the leadership, being the strong one.

I suppose war does that to people, she thought. Although she had a sneaking feeling her strength had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. Well, it would certainly remain with her in full force until George came home.

Barely fifteen minutes later, after strolling companionably side by side, Amelia and Tom came to a halt outside the attractive Queenslander house in Mitchell Street.

‘Thank you so much, Tom,’ Amelia said as he lifted her string bag of groceries from his bike’s rear pannier, ‘it’s very kind of you.’

She was about to take the bag from him, but he kept hold of it. ‘That’s OK, Mrs Sanderson,’ he said – ‘OK’ was another adopted Americanism of which Tom had become extremely fond – ‘I’ll take it upstairs for you,’ and propping his bike against the railings, he started bounding up the steps two at a time.