Home for Hogmanay! Every Scot’s dream is to let in the New Year with his ‘ain folk’ across the border. Netta couldn’t stop grinning as she watched those snow-tipped Galloway hills flash past the carriage window. What a surprise they would get when she arrived home early with a suitcase stuffed to bursting with all the sewing she’d done for baby: smocked rompers and stuffed toys, embroidered hankies as gifts, and tammies and mufflers knitted from the unravelled wool of old jumpers. Nettie Thimble knew ‘Mrs Sew and Sew’ was on the mend when she picked up needles once more, trying to teach Lizzie down the corridor how to cast on.

The morning of departure Netta woke as usual at about four o’clock but this time there was no sickening panic fluttering in her guts, only a surge of joy that at last she would be seeing her son for the first time in eight months. Netta dressed quickly and sat by the bed, packing and repacking a battered leather case, not quite believing this day had come. How she was raring for release from this gilded prison but felt so sorry for those who must spend the festive season here, wishing them all well, hugging her neighbours, making promises to visit and last-minute farewells. She thanked each of the nurses and Dr Goldberg, who had kept his promise and brought her back to normal. It was warm and bright in Denny House with decorations and cards everywhere. The first Christmas after war was over and everyone was in festive mood. Here she felt safe and sheltered but her spirit was eager for release into that chilly outside world.

Soon the smells, voices, shapes and colours of Park Royal would be only shadows and echoes, silhouettes on the wall by lamplight. She trusted she would never have to stay in there again.

Telephoning Stratharvar took all her reserves of courage but try as they might there was no reply from the telephone in the hall and Miss Dennison at the Exchange promised to send a message through to inform them of her imminent arrival. It suited Netta to make a simple homecoming with no fuss, just a few moments alone with Ray to sniff his head and feel the warmth of his body close to her chest. Would he be sitting up and smiling? Would his hair be red and stick up straight like hers did as a baby? How she had pored over his photograph until it was crinkled and cracked, faded from exposure and fingering. Film was scarce but the first thing she would do was have a portrait taken: mother and son together. Start as you meant to go on, Netta, into 1946, into a New Year of peace and a new beginning for us both. She smiled, fists clenched with determination.