‘Who needs petrol?’ her mother had snorted in contempt, when the rationing had hit so many folks’ mode of transport. Jonathan, whose love for motors and engines seemed never to be catered for, at least on Brumbys’ Farm, had winked at Kate who had smiled back sympathetically.

A shadow fell across the page of her half-written letter and she looked up to see her grandfather.

‘Writing to Danny, lass?’ he asked without preamble, and eased his stiff limbs down to sit in the chair beside her. ‘You leaving this morning?’

She nodded.

‘Ah’ve got you a little something extra to what I gave ya on Christmas Day, lass,’ he said and dropped a package into her lap. ‘I expect ya’ll be making a lot of new friends and maybe seeing new places and I thought this might come in handy.’

Carefully, Kate unwrapped the square-shaped parcel. It was a Box Brownie camera. ‘Oh, Grandad, that’s a lovely present. And yes, it will be very nice to have. You make friends with people and then get posted to different places and maybe never see them again.’

Will Benson sniffed. ‘That’s what Ah thought. Ah got ’em at the shop to put a film in it, lass, so if ya wanted to take a few pictures ’afore ya leave . . . And Ah’d like to take one of you in yar smart uniform. Ya’d send it back to me when ya get it developed, would ya?’

‘Of course. Thank you, Grandad.’ She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his stubbly face.

He sniffed and grunted with embarrassment. Changing the subject, he asked again. ‘A’ ya writing to Danny?’

‘Yes – just to let him know my new address. I haven’t heard from him in ages. I expect it’s all this moving about. Maybe his letters have got lost. Maybe one day I’ll get a bundle arrive all together.’

‘Kate . . .’ the old man began, paused, and then continued haltingly. ‘Katie, it’s time to – to let go, lass.’

She avoided looking at him. ‘What – what do you mean, Grandad?’ The question was unnecessary. In her heart she knew what he meant only too well.

‘Don’t live ya life hankering after summat – or rather someone – ya can never have.’

‘I’m not,’ she snapped, and then, feeling guilty for her sharpness, put her hand on his arm. ‘Truly I’m not. We’re – we’re . . .’ She took a deep shuddering breath and said the words she had always found so difficult to voice: ‘Brother and sister. We know we are. It’s just that . . .’

Now she could not put their feelings into words. How could she explain to her grandfather the love which still lay between her and Danny, a love which she believed would never go away or even be replaced?