They both turned to face Anna when she walked in.

‘Here she is, Charlie. My beautiful bride.’ Edward came to greet her, his arms open, a wide smile on his face. ‘You should have stayed in bed, sweetheart. I would have come and woken you up with a cup of tea and a kiss later.’

Confused, Anna allowed herself to be swept into his warm embrace. All the while, her mind was racing. Was this really the same Edward who had forced himself on her so savagely, who had hurt and humiliated her and spat curses in her face while he was doing it?

Over Edward’s shoulder she saw Charlie leering suggestively. Had Edward told him what had happened? she wondered. Hot shame washed over her.

She moved out of his arms, smoothing down her skirt with trembling fingers. ‘I should give you a hand.’

‘There’s no need,’ Edward said smoothly. ‘Charlie and I can manage. Why don’t you go back to bed? It’s still early. I’ll come up and join you when I’ve finished this next batch of loaves.’

‘No!’ Nausea lurched in her stomach. ‘I’m up now,’ she said, more calmly. ‘Besides, I’d like to help.’

‘And I’ve told you, we don’t need it.’ She flinched as Edward’s hands came down on her shoulders, steering her towards the door. ‘If you want to help, why don’t you make us all a cuppa? Charlie and I are parched, ain’t we, mate?’

As Anna went down the passageway to the smaller kitchen she could hear them laughing again. Were they laughing at her?

She was shaking as she filled the kettle under the tap. This was supposed to be a happy day, the start of her new life with Edward. She was meant to wake up feeling loved and cherished, not used and hurt.

And for Edward to act as if nothing had happened – she could scarcely believe it. It unsettled her, made her wonder if she had imagined the whole thing.

Or perhaps this was what it was supposed to be like? Was this how it happened? Did all brides wake up the following morning feeling as shocked and humiliated as she did?

Surely that couldn’t be right. Anna had heard the women on the wards, laughing and nudging each other and making sly remarks about what happened with their husbands in the bedroom. They certainly didn’t make it sound as brutal or as frightening an experience as the one she had suffered. And if it were, she wondered that they ever wanted to do it again.

Once again, she longed for her mother. Dorothy Beck would have been able to advise her, to tell her what was right and what wasn’t.

Who else could she ask? she wondered. Mrs Wheeler, or Mrs Hudson from next door? Not unless she wanted her business broadcast up and down Chambord Street. Or perhaps Mrs Church? Anna shuddered at the thought. No, she decided, this was something she had to sort out on her own.