I’m back at the office. All the girls have been very kind to me, and seem to understand when I burst into tears when someone walks past in the Australian army uniform or when the phone rings or the door slams. But sometimes I just want to scream. I’m a mess, but there’s nothing to do but get through it, and if I could be half as brave as you are that would be enough.

The farm sounds perfect. I laughed about the pumpkins but funnily enough I can see you doing it. I think you probably do have a green thumb. Mine’s pretty black, sorry to say—I accidentally killed those violets you gave me before you left. (Overwatering? Underwatering? No idea.) But yes to kids and we also need dogs, and lamb roasts on Sunday. Do people even eat lamb in America? See how far you go, darling, towards cheering me up?

Mum got out of bed this week and sat up to eat her meals with Dad and me—Dad told her he’ll starve if I keep cooking—and he didn’t go to the pub at all on Sunday. I’m still paying for my room at Mrs Mulligan’s and I hope that when Mum is feeling better I can get back there, but for now I know she needs us all close. And I feel like if we’re here together hoping for him, the chance of Jack surviving is better.

Look after yourself, my love, for you are what’s keeping me going. Keep your shirt on, please, and your heart safe.

Love,

S

Dearest S,

My heart is safe, my shirt is on, but my mind is going crazy thinking about you. I can’t even tell you all the daydreams I’ve had because I know the censors read all of our letters, and I don’t want them getting their kicks thinking about you. Safe to say you occupy pretty much all of my thoughts, babe, pretty much all of the time.