The next day, Maggie threw herself into a frenzy, preparing the house and the food for their visitor.

‘Mother, you will work your way into one of your headaches.’ Marion tied an apron around her waist. ‘Sit down and give me orders.’

‘Where’s your father?’

‘I’m here.’ Robert came in through the back door with a handful of freshly dug carrots and some horseradish root.

‘Does your friend like roast beef, Robert?’

‘I am sure he does.’

‘You didn’t think to ask?’

Robert sighed. ‘Maggie, what man doesn’t like roast beef?’

‘When I asked the butcher, he said the same. But you never know. Should I have bought salmon?’

Marion stopped her. ‘Mother, your roast beef is the best.’

Slightly mollified, Maggie agreed. ‘Your poor late father always loved it.’

‘And so does your poor living husband!’ Robert kissed her cheek. ‘Shall I boil some tatties?

‘Why would I want boiled tatties, Robert?’ Maggie asked him as if he were an idiot. ‘Has anyone ever had boiled tatties with beef? You have roast tatties with beef!’

Robert picked up his newspaper. ‘Ah yes. Your roast tatties are legendary. I will leave you girls to it then.’ And he retreated to the garden, smiling to himself.

‘What time is our guest coming?’ Maggie called after him.

‘Six o’clock.’

Maggie began to fret again. ‘It’s eleven o’clock now so …’ She thought hard. ‘He’ll be here in seven hours! And I haven’t even ironed the tablecloth.’

Marion turned the sink tap on and began washing the carrots. ‘Come on – I’ll help you and then you’ll have time to get yourself ready.’

By five o’clock, all was nearly done. The beef was doing well, the potatoes waiting to go in the oven, and carrots, cabbage and peas waiting in their pans to be boiled.

Maggie was half up the stairs to get ready before dashing back down. ‘Gravy!’

‘Yes, Mother. I’ve got the browning ready and the horseradish sauce is made. Now go and get changed while I check the table.’

With minutes to the momentous arrival, Robert was stationed by the small drinks trolley, Maggie was applying lipstick in the cracked kitchen mirror and Marion was upstairs sitting on her bed, looking out onto the road. She had no desire to find herself a husband but she found herself curious to meet this man. His name was George Buthlay and he had come out of the army as a major. By staying upstairs she’d have the opportunity to get a glimpse of him before meeting in person.

‘Marion, come downstairs,’ Maggie called.

‘I will in a minute. Almost ready.’

She saw a little car as it came round the corner – small and green with large chrome headlamps and narrow tyres. It slowed as it looked for the right address, then pulled into the drive in front of her father’s garage.

‘He’s here, Marion,’ Maggie called again. ‘Quick, quick!’

‘All right!’ Marion stayed where she was, waiting for the driver to reveal himself. The engine was killed and he stepped out of his car.