‘It’s big enough for us. We are lucky to have it, and furnished too.’

George looked at the ancient chintz sofa and armchair. ‘If you can call it furniture.’

‘In time we shall afford our own.’ Nothing was going to burst Marion’s happiness today. Putting her case down, she went to the window which faced the cottage garden. ‘Our own little paradise. I am going to fill those flower beds with snapdragons and scented carnations.’ She turned to her new husband. ‘George, I am so happy.’

He smiled at her, a beam of love that made her heart glow. ‘I’m glad.’ He hooked his hand into hers and pulled her to him. ‘I only want you to be happy.’

‘And I want to make you happy.’

‘What’s it like upstairs?’ He grinned a wolfish grin and pinched her bottom.

Marion flushed, more with apprehension than passion. She was finding the physical side of marriage rather awkward and uncomfortable. George was keen to teach her the ways in which both of them could enjoy it but he was definitely finding it more pleasant than she was. She pulled herself away from him gently.

‘I will have to find the sheets first.’

He pulled her back to him. ‘We don’t need sheets. It’s a warm day and I want to make love to my wife. That’s OK, isn’t it?’

‘Well yes, of course, my love. But – and I know this sounds silly – I want everything to be perfect first. I want to unpack. Where are the other boxes?’

They had brought three large boxes down from Dunfermline on the train. Maggie and the neighbours had turned out their cupboards to gift the newlyweds their unwanted blankets, sheets and table linen, a toast rack, four egg cups, a pink tea set with a saucer missing, several ancient saucepans, a mismatched selection of bone-handled cutlery, two sharp knives and a fish slice. Marion hadn’t wanted any of it, but her mother had told her, ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, Marion. When your father and I married we had nothing. These things may be old but there’s years of life left in them yet.’

The boxes were now resting on the kitchen table.

George, annoyed, said, ‘I’m hungry. What have we got?’

Marion laughed. ‘Nothing. Why don’t you go and do some shopping for me while I make things a bit more homely?’ She went to her handbag and took out her ration book, giving it to George. ‘See if you can get some butter and sugar and maybe some bacon? Eggs? Oh, and some bread, milk and tea.’

‘I don’t know my way around like you do. Come with me.’

‘Oh, George. Kensington High Street is only at the end of the drive. It’s full of shops.’ She pressed two one-pound notes into his hand. ‘It won’t take you long. By the time you get back, I’ll have everything straight.’

He took the money and the ration book, kissed his wife and made for the front door.