In East Horsley, when they’d reached the quaint parade of shops, she’d been intent on going straight to the tobacconist’s, but her brother wouldn’t follow. ‘I’ll catch up with you later on,’ he’d said. ‘I’m going to take the bus to Guildford, see if I can get myself a library card.’

She’d rolled her eyes at him. ‘Since when did you become so boring?’

‘I dunno.’ He’d dug her in the arm. ‘Since I was born. But you go on. Enjoy your sweets and pop.’

‘I bloody will.’

‘Don’t get yourself in any scrapes.’

‘As if I would.’

‘I mean it, Joy – I really like it here.’

‘Who’d you think I’m going to bother? There’s more sheep round here than people.’

‘Yeah, and that’s the trouble.’

‘Leave it out.’

Her brother must’ve realized he’d stung her. ‘Should we meet in a few hours, then?’

‘No, thanks. I don’t need your pity. I’ll find a bench somewhere and read my comics.’

‘Fine. I’ll see you back at Leventree.’

‘We’re calling it that now, are we? Leventree.’

‘Yeah. That’s what it’s called.’

She’d tried to wound him in return. ‘Well, it didn’t take you too long, did it? You’ll be asking me to call you Charles before the year is out. And if you think I haven’t noticed all your swooning over Florence, blimey – it’s embarrassing.’

He’d looked away, towards the road, but she could see his neck was reddening. ‘I’m going to the library now,’ he’d said, and walked off, hands in pockets, to the bus stop. That was how he’d always ended disagreements with her, even when he was a littl’un. He’d just tell her calmly what he was about to do and then he’d do it. There was nobody more precious or infuriating to her.

Waiting in the queue at the tobacconist’s, she’d studied the confectionery in the glass display. They’d had the toffee she liked best, with chips of hazelnuts in it, and there were so many varieties of chocolate – she hadn’t known which way to use her ration up. When she’d heard the tinkle of the bell behind her, she’d thought nothing of it – just another customer arriving for his ten-a-day, no doubt. But then the old bloke paying at the till had carried off his things and the tobacconist had asked her what she wanted. ‘A pound of treacle toffee and two packets of Player’s,’ someone else had answered for her. She’d spun round and there was Mal. Much fatter in the face and balder than he’d ever been, and still as badly groomed. He hadn’t smiled or said hello. He’d only stood there.

The tobacconist had chided him. ‘The lady was the first in line, I think.’

‘Of course. I’ll wait my turn,’ came Mal’s reply.

‘Young lady? Is there something I can get you?’

It had rattled her so much she’d left with twenty Capstans and eight ounces of humbugs. She hadn’t known where else to go but round the corner, in the opposite direction from the bus stop. But no sooner had she made it on to Kingston Avenue, he’d bounded after her. He’d matched her pace and got her by the sleeve. ‘Follow me,’ he’d told her. ‘I’ve a car just up the way.’