As the dance ended, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

‘Kath Motts?’

As she turned and recognised the face, her stomach sank. ‘Nancy? What on earth?’

‘I could ask the same.’

‘But . . . it’s odd, meeting you so far from home.’

‘Indeed.’ Nancy leaned forward and whispered in her ear. ‘Which is why we should bury the hatchet, don’t you think?’

‘Is this young woman bothering you?’ Donald interjected.

‘Er . . . no, it’s fine. But thank you,’ Kath said, as the band struck up another number. ‘She’s an acquaintance from home. Can I come and find you in a few minutes?’

In the bar Nancy took out a silver cigarette case, offered one to Kath, who refused, then lit her own with a matching silver lighter. Trophies from some poor besotted officer, Kath thought bitterly. Nancy looked different in uniform, and without her usual heavy make-up; her hair had darkened and lost its sheen, and grey shadows ringed her eyes.

She took a long drag and exhaled, batting away the cloud of smoke. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

Kath hesitated, thinking of Donald, and then decided that he’d wait. ‘I’ve just been introduced to Martini.’

‘Two Martinis it is, then.’

They took their drinks to a corner table and spent a few moments in small talk. Nancy lit a second cigarette and expertly exhaled a procession of smoke rings.

‘Look, Kath, what I said was inexcusable. Both times. You and your brother didn’t deserve it.’

‘Let’s forget it.’ It all seemed such a long time ago; it barely mattered any more.

‘I was feeling very sorry for myself and hitting out at everyone.’

‘That soldier?’

‘Oh, him. That was nothing.’ Nancy paused. ‘No, it was life at home. My parents, or rather my father. He was going off the rails.’

Kath waited.

‘He’d been laid off because of his drinking, so he decided the remedy was to drink some more.’

‘I’m so sorry, Nancy.’

‘Which is why I’m here. I just had to get away. The first couple of months were ruddy awful, but this is a bit better, isn’t it?’ She glanced around at the bar, filled with men in uniform. ‘Just my cup of tea.’

They laughed.

‘Your brother is a brave man,’ Nancy said, draining her glass. ‘They all are, those pilots. We owe them our lives.’

‘We cross our fingers every day. No news is good news.’

Neither spoke of Captain Burrows. It was probably best that way, Kath thought, as they finished their drinks and wandered back into the dancehall. Across the floor of whirling couples she could see Donald dancing with a rather glamorous woman several inches taller than himself, auburn hair swinging to her shoulders.

She looked again. It was Marcia, but she didn’t honestly care – at that moment the world seemed a gilded place, her footsteps gliding along the path back to the barracks. But when she lay down, the room was spinning dangerously. She drank a glass of water and swallowed down an aspirin for the headache, which would soon turn into the worst hangover of her life.