‘What’s that girl called?’ Elsie had whispered to Ida Pearse, one of the older members.

‘Which girl?’

‘The one who always knows everyfing about everyfing.’

‘Oh, that’s Avril Bridge. She’s Winnie’s twin.’

‘Twins? They’re twins? What, both of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that girl Avril, she’s …’

Winnie had braced herself for the inevitable comparison: … ten times prettier than Winnie … so much brainier than Winnie … not nearly as fat as Winnie.

‘… she’s a right bossy old show-off, isn’t she? And Winnie’s ever so nice.’

A marvellous warmth had flooded through Winnie, leaving a tidemark of indelible gratitude; it had never occurred to her during her constant skirmishes with Avril – the mutual insults and sly pinches that punctuated their days – that she was actually nicer than her twin. The week after that, during a game of stalking, Elsie had compared Avril’s looks unfavourably with those of a ferret and the bond was sealed. The club had foundered, but the two girls had continued to meet – there’d been a pedagogic element at first, with Winnie going to the library to ‘help the poor girl’ (as she explained to her parents) with her arithmetic and spelling; Elsie, though, was a quick study, which meant there was always plenty of time left over for whispered discussions about film stars or where babies came from (Elsie was one of nine) or the perennially enjoyable topic of how awful Avril was. Aside from the delicious interest of these conversations, the effect on Winnie’s own academic performance was considerable, since she had to work hard to stay ahead of her pupil, but the most wonderful thing of all was that Elsie admired her. It was a balm that soothed the dents inflicted by Avril.

‘All right,’ said Elsie, looking up from the Radio Times. ‘What should I say next?’

‘Hang on, let me have a think – I mean, you’ve rather sprung this on me.’ Not that she hadn’t been thinking for years that Elsie had got herself a brick when she deserved a diamond. Gordon lived next door and had wooed her by the simple expedient of cementing himself to her side. ‘When did you make up your mind?’

‘On the train on the way up from Portsmouth, so about’ – Elsie checked her watch – ‘four hours ago. It happened all of a sudden, it was like – what’s that thing called? – the road to Zanzibar?’

‘What, with Bob Hope?’

‘No, the one with the saint, in the Bible, he falls off his horse.’

‘Road to Damascus.’

‘Yes. It was like this’ – she clicked her fingers. ‘We were just crossing the Downs and they were all white and perfect, like icing sugar, and I was thinking about how Gordon wants to set a date for the wedding, and instead of feeling excited I felt dead flat, I just couldn’t pick myself up, it was as if I was looking all round but couldn’t see anything that … that shone, and then I heard this noise – I didn’t have a seat, I was wedged in next to the heads, and there were four of my ratings in the same carriage, all in uniform, and one of them was flirting with a marine, and she was laughing so loudly that she sounded drunk, and everyone was staring and I stood up on tiptoe and caught her eye and gave her a look – just one of my officer looks, I didn’t say anything – and she shut up, straight away, and I thought, I’m good at this, I am. And then I thought, Why don’t I chuck it in with Gordon? and it was like … flash-bang!’ She looked up with wonder, as if following the trajectory of a shooting star. ‘… I’d got it. I’d found the answer. I’d always thought – you know, end of the war, back to the Post Office, back to Gordon – he’s a foreman at Cossor’s now, did I tell you? – and I’d thought … that’ll be all right. It’ll be all right. And you know Gordon, Winnie. You know that he’s …’