When the lights went out and everyone else was sleeping, weariness finally engulfed her. She closed her eyes and let oblivion take her away.

It was the sound of the tea trolley that woke her. Rattling its ancient wheels along the shiny floors, it heralded a new day.

‘Morning, Mrs Tattersall.’ The round-faced, cheery woman poured her a cup of tea. ‘Milky, wasn’t it, dearie, with half a sugar. I’m glad you don’t have a sweet tooth, because Miss Routledge in the end bed insists on four spoonfuls. I could cheat a bit, if only the old bugger didn’t keep her eagle eye on me while I shovel it in. Honest, you can stand the spoon up in it, and what with sugar being hard to get in any quantity, I’m having to rob Peter to pay Paul.’

Replacing the teapot, she clattered a teaspoon on to the saucer. ‘Goodness only knows how you manage with your brood. Still, we mustn’t grumble. We’ve been through worse times. Besides, I’m sure it won’t be long before we can throw away the ration books altogether.’

After placing the teacup on Amy’s bedside cabinet, she threw back the curtains and let the morning sun shine in. ‘Look at that,’ she declared with a smile. ‘Another lovely day.’

Sitting up in bed, Amy thanked her and, enjoying her cup of tea, she glanced around the ward. It was filled with all the noises and chatter that came with the morning. The woman who had been peeking at her and Frank last night was full of apologies.

‘He’s a bit of a handful, that husband of yours,’ she declared. ‘By! I’m glad I never got wed. I couldn’t be doing with all that.’

Amy made excuses for Frank, but in her heart she bitterly regretted the fact that the nasty little scene had been witnessed by others. The woman was a nosy biddy and, according to the gossip she’d heard from the tea lady, was something of a loner. Yet, in a way, Amy envied her. Misshapen and plain-faced, she had apparently not received one visitor in the three weeks she’d been there. Yet, given a chance, Amy would have swapped places with her there and then.

Feigning tiredness, Amy turned away. In her mind she relived the incident with Frank which, if it hadn’t been so disgusting, might have been comical. Last night she had done a lot of thinking. Now, in the cold light of day, she knew what she must do. Her mind was made up. If she was ever to have any life at all, there was only one way for her to go.

And, right or wrong, there would be no turning back.

At half past nine, while breakfast was being served, Amy got out of bed and sat in the chair. ‘Nothing for me,’ she told the nurse. ‘I’m not hungry.’

There followed a brief, though well-intentioned lecture on how breakfast was the best meal of the day, and should not be missed. ‘It will take a few days yet for you to feel stronger,’ she was told. ‘You must take care of yourself.’