Rosie laughed. ‘Remember when Dad used to tease me and say that I had good child-bearing hips?’

‘You used to go bananas,’ Paul said, smiling, before mocking his sister’s voice: ‘I’m not ever getting married. I’m not ever having horrible babies.’

‘So are you OK about tomorrow?’ Rosie asked when they’d finished laughing. ‘Or whenever Mr Henderson gets here.’

‘Kind of,’ Paul said. ‘Dad trusted him, so I reckon he’ll be OK.’

‘I wonder about later on,’ Rosie admitted. ‘I mean, Mum didn’t have anyone over here and Dad’s only got those weird second cousins up in Yorkshire.’

‘Freaks.’ Paul nodded. ‘Their kids practically had strings of drool hanging out of their mouths. But Dad had some money and Granddad’s old house in London. We’ll probably get sent to boarding schools and live there in the holidays.’

‘Mum never wanted us to board,’ Rosie said. ‘She said they’re really strict. Too many canings and stuff.’

‘You’ll be OK,’ Paul said uncertainly. ‘Nobody gives you any hassle. But I’m skinny and I bet they’ll make me play rugby …’

‘We’re thinking too hard,’ Rosie said, as she tried not to smirk at the prospect of Paul getting crunched in a rugby scrum. ‘We’re not even out of France yet. Maybe with the war we won’t even have to go to school.’

‘Are you two coming into bed or not?’ Hugo demanded.

‘Yeah, we’re coming,’ Rosie said. It was early and worrying about leaving meant she probably wouldn’t get to sleep for hours. But she’d miss Hugo and wanted to cuddle up and watch him fall asleep.

Paul flicked off the light switch and the siblings walked barefoot in the dark, ending up on opposite sides of the bed with Hugo sandwiched between them. Hugo nuzzled Rosie’s chest and slid his arm around her back.

‘Goodnight,’ Rosie said gently, but she smelled something as she closed her eyes and took a breath.

‘Christ!’ Paul moaned. ‘Who farted?’

Hugo broke into hysterics as Rosie kicked off the blankets. ‘That’s unbearable,’ she choked. ‘How can someone so little make a smell that bad?’

Paul grabbed the pillow beneath his head and used it to whack Hugo over the head.

‘Smell my fart,’ Hugo chanted, as he took Rosie’s pillow and swung back at Paul. ‘Smell my fart, smell my fart, smell my fart!’

Rosie jumped out of bed and couldn’t help smiling as she watched the two outlines rumbling in the dark. She thought about turning on the light and breaking them up, but she didn’t feel like being sensible, so she grabbed the pillow from Hugo’s bed and dived into the action.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN