Everyone laughed and Edward looked down affectionately at Ellen. ‘I would if I could,’ he said.

‘Night-night, everyone,’ called Sally, and there was a chorus of replies.

She, Betty and Reggie Travers and Mr and Mrs Fowler set off for their homes on the village main street, while Ellen, Dora and the Beveridges turned the other way, towards the lane that led to Highview Cottage and Highview Farm, taking out their pocket torches and pulling their coat collars up. It was often cold in this bleak corner of Lancashire, and the summer so far had been exceptionally dismal.

Nancy and Albert walked ahead, Dora between them, chatting, while Ellen and Edward lagged behind, holding hands and exchanging discreet kisses. It had been a lively, friendly evening of card playing, the whist drive organised to raise money for the repainting of the village hall’s windows and doors. So many places had become shabby and neglected-looking since the war, and the people of Little Grindle felt it was time to make improvements.

At Highview Cottage the Arnolds and the Beveridges parted, and Dora and Ellen went to the back door.

‘Looks very dark,’ said Ellen, puzzled, as Dora opened the door. ‘Dad? Are you there?’

Dora tried the light switch, half expecting the power to be off or the light bulb gone, but the kitchen was illuminated immediately to reveal Philip sitting in his chair with a furious scowl on his face.

‘Phil, what on earth’s the matter? Why are you sitting in the dark?’

‘Why shouldn’t I sit in the dark if I want? There’s nowt to put the light on for this evening, is there?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I say.’

‘But what’s the matter?’

‘Nowt.’

‘All right, then. If there’s nowt the matter, I’ll get on and get ready to go up.’

Dora and Ellen each had a sinking feeling. They’d seen this kind of sulk many times before and already it was shaping up to spoil what was left of the evening. If Phil was out of sorts he made sure everyone else suffered. It would be best to bring what remained of the day to a close as quickly as they could.

‘No one here to make my tea and not even a note – that’s what’s the matter, as you know full well. How was I to know where you’d gone or how long you’d be gone for? You could have been anywhere.’

‘Like I’d be gone “anywhere”. Of course I left you a note. Your tea is on the side under that teacloth there, see?’ Dora bent down and picked the note she’d left from off the floor. ‘Must have got wafted off the table in the draught when you opened the door, but I thought you’d have been able to heat up a bit of food.’