‘You’ll come home one day, Papa.’

‘Oh, Anna.’ He pulled her into his arms for a final embrace, pressing her to his heart.

Davy was waiting for them by the gates. Anna felt a jolt of jealousy as she saw Liesel run to his waiting arms. She desperately wished Edward could be there to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. She suddenly felt very alone.

As they trudged back to the station, they discussed what her father had said to them. Of course, Davy had an opinion about it.

‘I think it’s very sensible, under the circumstances,’ he said loftily. ‘And very fair, too. I’m sure Anna will get a good price for the bakery.’

‘I’m not selling it,’ she said.

She kept walking, facing straight ahead, aware that they had both stopped in their tracks.

‘But why?’ Liesel wanted to know.

‘Because it’s what Papa would want.’

‘No, it isn’t. You heard what he said, he doesn’t mind if you—’

‘I heard what he said.’ But she had also seen the look of yearning in his eyes. There was only one reason why he had left her the bakery: because he knew it would be in safe hands.

‘And how do you propose to run it?’ Davy said.

Anna fought the urge to tell him to mind his own business.

‘I’ll take on some help,’ she said. ‘Mrs Church’s nephew used to work at a bakery in Hackney before he got called up. Now he’s been discharged he’s looking for a job. I’m sure he can run the place until Edward comes home.’

‘Hmm.’ Davy pulled a face. ‘I wonder if I should meet this young man before you take him on?’

‘Why?’ Anna looked at him. ‘What do you know about baking?’

Davy’s face flushed. ‘Well, nothing, but—’

‘So mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine.’

‘I was only trying to help,’ he protested, but Liesel shook her head.

‘Leave her be,’ she warned. ‘My sister can be very stubborn when she wants to be.’

As Anna marched on ahead, she heard Davy mutter, ‘We can only hope this Edward comes home, then.’

Oh, he will, Anna thought. And then everything would be all right again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was early November when the nightmares started again.

It was the first time it had happened since he came home. In France, before the artillery shell hit him, he had woken up screaming nearly every night. But since returning to England – nothing.

Perhaps it was the physical shock of his injuries that did it, but Sam Trevelyan had finally dared to believe that the nightmares were over for good. Until the night he woke up, bathed in a pool of his own sweat, gasping and crying and fending off unseen horrors with flailing hands.

Now, in the pale light of the morning, Sam felt queasy and ashamed. He could see the ward sister with her nurses gathered around her, and he knew immediately she was talking about him, passing on the night sister’s report, telling them to keep an eye on him, as if he were a helpless child.