‘Perhaps I could stay with Ivy, and you could go instead?’ she said, more in hope than expectation.

‘Of course I’ve suggested that too, but she insists she cannot manage without me. I’m the only one who understands, apparently.’ He brushed a hand through his thinning hair, a gesture which, for the briefest of moments, betrayed his exasperation, his exhaustion, the heavy burden he carried.

Then he leaned forward, confidentially. ‘Besides, we thought that going for yourself might offer you some personal solace, my dear. Our friends insist that it is a highly reputable company and it would be perfectly safe for a young woman on her own. In fact, there were several single ladies on the tour with them. They will give us a personal introduction to the tour guide, a former army major and a most excellent man, they said.’

This was emotional blackmail, Ruby knew, but she was powerless to resist. ‘You seem so strong, and this will mean such a lot to her,’ he went on. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’

She didn’t feel strong. She could get by, day by day, doing the familiar things. But travelling alone to Belgium? Visiting the battlefields?

His brown eyes reminded her so much of Bertie’s, gentle and pleading. She was never able to refuse that look when he was alive and it felt as though refusing his father’s request might be an insult to his memory, perhaps even a denial of his very existence. In their different ways his parents were pinning their hopes on her, and the last thing she wanted was to cause them even further suffering.

‘We will none of us recover, of course. But perhaps if you are able to bring back something . . .’ Albert shook his head, lost for words. ‘A memento of some kind, I don’t know what, but perhaps a postcard, a flower, anything – it might allow her heart to rest. We should be eternally grateful.’

‘When would this be?’ Ruby asked. ‘I’ve promised Mum we’ll have some days out in the summer. She wants to go to the seaside and Auntie May has offered to lend us her beach hut.’

‘It would be only a week, and I thought early July might be best, when the crossing will be calm. I’ll have a word with Mrs T.’

She felt an urgency to speak up now, before she left, or it would be assumed that she had agreed. But just then Ivy returned from the kitchen with the pot of tea, poured her a new cup and handed it across the table with such an entreating smile that Ruby could not bring herself to say anything at all.

That evening she talked to her mother. A few years after being so suddenly widowed, Mary had managed to create a new life for herself: taking in sewing to supplement Ruby’s modest income, joining the Women’s Institute and making wonderful cakes, digging over her husband’s vegetable patch and learning how to grow potatoes, beetroot, beans and salad vegetables to save on food bills.