‘Are you worrying about Kitty again?’ Tom’s voice was gentle as she began to straighten the fashion magazines on the small table in the middle of the room. When Sunday had read them she always brought them into this room for the other women and the older girls to enjoy. They were one of her very few indulgences.

‘I’m naturally concerned that we still haven’t heard from her.’ Her voice was stiff, almost as if she were answering a stranger, and it wasn’t lost on Tom who was almost at the end of his tether. Sometimes it was hard to remember now how happy they had once been. In truth, he was desperately worried about the girl as well. It wasn’t like Kitty to just ignore them for all these weeks, but he had kept his thoughts to himself rather than worry Sunday any more than she already was.

‘Your mother has just left with Mr Dewhurst to see Reverend Lockett and arrange a date for the wedding,’ he informed her, hoping to turn the conversation, if it could be termed as that, to happier things.

‘About time too – those two were made for each other,’ Sunday replied. Just as we were, she wanted to tell him, but couldn’t.

‘They’re talking about sometime in August.’ Tom fiddled with the petals of one of the tall golden chrysanthemums that stood in a large vase in the window. George had grown them in the garden and they were quite stunning. ‘She says that now they’ve finally got around to it, there’s no point in delaying at their age.’

Sunday merely nodded and realising that she wasn’t going to say any more he turned to the door – but then suddenly turned back again. He felt as if he was walking on eggshells and had had quite enough of it.

‘How much longer is this going to go on?’

Sunday looked at him and noted his cheeks were flushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she lied.

‘Oh, but I think you do.’ It was the first time that Tom had addressed their situation this strongly. ‘It’s as if you can’t bear me to be near you. Is that how you feel?’

Sunday shrugged and something in Tom seemed to shrivel and die as he was forced to accept that their relationship might truly be over. ‘I see.’ His voice was heavy with unshed tears. ‘In that case, it might be better if I were to move into one of the spare bedrooms?’ He prayed that she would argue with him and beg him not to do that but instead she merely shrugged again. Sunday wanted so desperately to try to explain to him how bereft she felt. She had loved Kitty as if she were her own child and now the girl was gone, and the sense of despair she felt at her loss had been heightened by discovering that Tom already had a child with someone else while she herself was barren. But the words stuck in her throat.