“Why—” She spent so much of her life grizzling that she struggled when she was pleased. “Why, Aunt Jane. That is—That is—” She looked at the lovely soft thing as if she expected it to come back to life as a dozen foxes and bite her to death. “I couldn’t!” She put out a hand as if she were going to push it away, and instead she patted it.

Then there was no going back.

“Well, if you’re not wearing it, as you say,” she conceded. “Thank you, Aunt Jane.”

Jane had given me one of her fur coats, too. I was stunned. I’d saved enough of my small salary to buy her a record album, as I hardly ever spent money on anything except the gas meter. I’d bought it in Stonehaven when I went by myself to return the library books: William Walton’s Viola Concerto. I thought Jane might like some new English classical music. I was very glad I had something nice to give her.

Ellen gave me and Phyllis each a silver sixpence, because we were going flying with 648 Squadron.

With a dramatic flourish she pushed a silver coin of her own into the beam above the bar.

“Go on. You do yours now, Louisa.”

My heart seemed to turn somersaults. The ceiling was low enough I could touch the beam with my fingertips, but I wasn’t tall enough to force the sixpence into a crack.

I couldn’t climb on the counter with Nan watching.

I dragged a chair to the edge of the bar to stand on. I could see Jamie’s sixpence, waiting for my penny to turn up beside it the next time another decoded instruction was ready for him. I didn’t want to draw Nan’s eyes over there.

I pushed my sixpence into a crack in the old wood right at the other end of the beam. I’d easily remember where it was—exactly opposite Jamie’s.

My fluttering heart soared, plummeted in terror, and leaped into my throat.

Rules are made to be broken, Lula, Mummy’s cheerful voice reminded me in my head.

If I died that afternoon it would be worth it to ride in an RAF Bristol Blenheim bomber.

I touched my sixpence with the tip of my finger. Keep me safe.

Jamie:

I found myself whistling “The Wassail Song.” It was not regulation for Pimms Section to take three girls along on our Christmas mission, and Phyllis was so nervous it was hard not to tease her.

“No worries, this isn’t a bombing run, we’re just on patrol,” I told her cheerfully. Oh, it was like being in school, if school had included aeroplanes! It gave me the same feeling of truant joy, the heady satisfaction of undermining authority just for fun.

The ground crew helped the girls into flight suits, pleased as punch to be pulling a fast one on Wing Commander Cromwell.