I will write again just as soon as I have a proper address.

With love,

Vic

The third letter was shorter still, confirming in coded references that his new posting was at Martlesham. Kath groaned, holding her head in her hands. It must have been him Marcia had seen at the dance. There couldn’t have been too many men like him at a USAF base.

She took out her writing case and ruined several sheets of good Basildon Bond trying to find the right words. In the end she decided just to ignore any reference to the dance, simply expressing delight at the prospect of seeing him once more, followed by a few observations about how her life was going back in ‘the old place’. Although it was too soon in her posting to apply for leave, she said, her shifts allowed a thirty-six-hour break every ten days.

She told herself not to worry. So what if he’d seen her with Larry? Did he have any right to stop her having fun with other men? They weren’t exactly dating, after all, had never called each other boyfriend or girlfriend, never before declared any feelings for each other apart from fondness and friendship. In all the time they’d known each other, they’d shared only a couple of chaste kisses.

On the other hand, how would she feel if the boot was on the other foot, and she’d spied him smooching with another girl? The realisation was shocking. I’d hate it. I’d be jealous as hell.

She read his letters again, trying to glean any further clues. It was only then she noticed that he’d changed his sign-off. With love. All of sudden she knew, with a clarity she’d never known before. To hell with all the Billys, the Donalds and Larrys, all those glamorous, handsome men, all those wonderful dancers with their wandering hands. Vic, with his shy, sweet ways, was more important to her than all the others put together. She couldn’t bear to lose him.

Each day, morning and afternoon, she checked her pigeonhole, but each time there was no response. A week went by, then ten days. At first she was concerned for his safety. Or had he perhaps been posted back to his original base for some reason, and her letters hadn’t reached him? Her greatest concern, a fear that rose its ugly head when she was most vulnerable, alone after an exhausting shift, or in the middle of the night when she was trying to get to sleep, was that he really had seen her at the dance snogging Larry, and was so appalled that he’d decided to cut her off.

When she went home that Sunday – Mark had leave, and Ma was cooking to celebrate his birthday – her remaining flicker of hope was extinguished.

‘No post?’

‘Expecting something from lover boy?’ Mark teased.

After lunch, Pa had to go back to the station for an hour to sort out shifts for the coming week and Ma said she still had to decorate the cake for tea. ‘Go off for a walk, you two. Make the most of this lovely weather.’