‘No,’ he said. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. ‘But it’s so soon. I don’t want you to … I think we have to recognize that it could make you feel unwell again. You’ve been a bit …’ He took my hand in his.

‘I’ll survive. Who else will be there?’

‘Oh, lots of people with important titles and empty heads. Jane, I really do think you should speak to someone about what happened to you. What you’ve been through.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘If you say so. Well, I’ll be back soon.’

‘All right.’

He joined the others outside. I watched them walk towards the pub. When they could no longer be seen, I ran out to the telephone box across the road and called Tibbot’s number, eager to tell him what I had realized from the words Lorelei had spoken when I had found her.

There was a second of metallic clicking, and then the ringing tone. It went on and on and I willed him to pick it up. At the same time, I was watching through the glass panels, should Nick and the other men happen to return – they might decide the walk wasn’t worth the candle, or the Duck might be closed, or there might be some other reason that would bring them back to find me making a strange telephone call from outside the home. I tried to think of an excuse in case I needed it, but none seemed plausible. ‘Come on,’ I muttered into the receiver. Eventually, I hung up and hurried back to the house. I would call him as soon as I could get away again.

Hazel was standing in the hallway, looking at me quizzically. ‘Who were you phoning?’ she asked.

‘It’s nothing. Just a friend of mine I’m seeing this week.’ She looked at the telephone in the hallway. ‘It’s not working very well,’ I said. ‘So, now that the men have all gone out, what shall we girls do? Would you like to listen to the radio? Or play a game?’

Her eyes seemed to blur behind water, which she rubbed away. ‘The Odeon’s showing Victory 1945. Can we go?’

I pursed my lips. It was nine o’clock but seeing her mother’s film might do her good. ‘Well, it’s a bit late, but all right.’

She perked up at my answer. ‘Thank you.’

Soon we were on a tram as it bullied a car out of its path – Socialist transport took precedence over private vehicles. Hazel looked up at me. ‘Will you come to my mum’s funeral?’ she asked.

‘If you want me to.’

‘Yeah. Please.’ She bit her lip to stop herself grinning at a private thought. ‘I think Charles is sweet on you.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re wrong.’ But it warmed me to see her almost smile.