Queenie’s eyes skimmed over the letter. ‘You can read it yourself. There’s been no more bombs. That’s over two weeks since they stopped. We still can’t go home though,’ sighed Queenie. It had been fun watching the spring lambs born and the little piglets, but overall, living on a farm was boring. It was so different to the East End, where the houses were close together and you only had to open your front door to bump into your friends. There was literally nothing to do here. And it was so quiet Queenie felt as though she needed to speak in a whisper.

‘How d’ya feel today? The weather’s glorious. Fancy going for a walk somewhere where we ain’t been before?’ asked Queenie.

‘I still don’t feel too clever. I don’t mind sitting outside, but I’m not up to walking far. Why don’t you go and find Ivan, see if he’ll take you into town? You can spend that money Mrs O’Leary sent us, and while you’re there you can get me some magazines and a good book.’ Mrs Briggs had been giving them lessons at home and it was she who suggested that they start reading books. Viv was currently reading Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens and loving it.

‘It wasn’t Mrs O’Leary who sent us the money, it was Daniel and Patrick – I told you that.’ Queenie had been stunned when a ten-pound note fell out of Mrs O’Leary’s latest letter. She’d never had so much money in her little purse before. ‘Do you want me to bring you a cup of tea before I go out?’

‘No. I’m fine, thanks. Mrs Briggs will bring me some breakfast up soon. I want to finish my book anyway. I need to know what happens to poor Oliver.’

Queenie put her purse in the pocket of her blue-and-white striped dress. ‘Bye then. I’ll see you later.’

Ivan Tumbleweed was a simple, thick-set, dark-haired thirty-year-old local man. He lived down the road from the farm in his caravan on some land his deceased father had left for him. His mum had abandoned him when he was young and taken his two older sisters with her. None of them had ever contacted him again, which at times grated on Ivan.

Seeing Queenie, Ivan drove towards her in his tractor. He liked young Queenie a lot and was sure she liked him too – why else would she spend so much time with him?

‘Good morning, Miss Queenie. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’ Ivan greeted her in his thick country accent.

‘Yes. It’s lovely. Are you finishing at lunchtime as it’s Saturday?’

‘I sure am, Miss Queenie.’ Ivan couldn’t help but notice that since arriving at the farm, Queenie had turned from a girl into a woman. She had titties now, not big ones, but they were noticeable, especially when she ran. She obviously didn’t wear a bra because he’d seen them bouncing up and down.

‘If you aren’t busy this afternoon, would you be kind enough to take me into town? Viv’s still in bed with mumps and I need to get her a couple of bits. I also need some things for myself.’