I’ve actually bumped into Blowers a few times in the Shipwright’s and he bought me a pint recently, which was decent of him. He said we didn’t need to worry about ‘our friend’ because the Air Force weren’t interested in him at all, though he gave me a look which I rather interpreted as that Blowers himself was interested in what really happened. But I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure.

I suppose Blowers has got his tabs on Arthur anyway, because Muriel is looking after him. Since Arthur came back from hospital, she’s hardly left his side. She’s moved into the flat with his wretched mother and helps her out with the shop. It’s hard to say who’s more hard done by out of this arrangement but I rather fancy Muriel’s chances in a spat with Mrs S. I’ve quite come round to Muriel by the way. She was at the ceremony for Jack, too. Do you remember how we used to pick cockles with her when we were children? I have a horrid feeling we were awful to her.

One more thing – I hesitate to write this but feel I must – they mentioned Jack’s family he’d left back in America. It was a surprise to me too. Muriel’s told me all she knows. It can wait until you come home if you’re up to it.

Father has no idea I have written. He is the same. He asks about you. I know you must hate him after all that was said, but he has no idea how to live after Mother, and, frankly, I don’t think any of us do. You do know that he always loved you far more than me. I’m too dull-headed. Don’t bother arguing, you know it’s true. It’s because he had such high hopes for you as the boffin of the family that he’s so dashed by your predicament. I think, by the way, that he’s sorry about Oxford. He seems to think it’s somehow his fault. The other day he said, ‘She could have gone,’ and I had to tell him that you’d just had some rough luck but he looked at me as if I was mad. So, you can see, he’s feeling awful for not supporting you more. God knows why you wanted to go to bloody university anyway.

It will get better, it has to.

Perhaps you and I can sell the farm and for the pittance we’ll get for it we can run away somewhere warm. What do you say? I rather fancy Greece. I think Mother would approve.

Tell me what it’s like? Is it awful? Are you painting? Are you going to watch the Coronation? Mrs T is cock-a-hoop about it.