‘Now I have to pay you something for that,’ she’d said, digging in her purse for a halfpenny. ‘It’s just a superstition,’ she’d added, ‘so it doesn’t cut our friendship.’ For she’d weighed the possibilities and had decided, with some surprise, and maybe a twinge of disappointment, that that’s what it was nearest to – a friendship. After all, in their handful of meetings, he’d never once tried it on with her; there’d been none of the usual forced steerage towards a darkened doorway (she was not inexperienced in such matters), no sudden hot breath on her neck, no fat-fingered unbuttoning or unzipping or unexpected bumping into unexpected bumps; neither, though, had there been any of the lingering looks or gentle hand-holding that (in films) indicated romantic interest; he had behaved towards her with easy, teasing good nature, in the way that a decent man might treat his sister, and Vee could only suppose that he was missing his family and that she herself was in loco Carmen O’Mahoney, and she wasn’t complaining, exactly. It was just that at certain moments – as when she’d been leaning against him in the train; the warmth, the solidity of him – she could remember what it was like to actually want to be kissed, properly, the way she’d been kissed at seventeen or so, before her sex life had become a series of expediencies. And, at such moments, she couldn’t help wondering whether her farewell embrace with Mario, when it came, might possibly run to more than an amiable arm-squeeze – might even hold a dash of fantastic promise (Hey, honey, don’t forget me, I’ll be back …).

The rain began to fall more heavily, and she abandoned her search for seaweed and waited under the eaves of the shuttered ice-cream hut until the stone-skimming contest ended in victory for Mario. ‘The thing is,’ said the Tommy, swaying close as they walked back up the hill to the station, his warm breath sliming her ear, ‘I like to sink my stones and not flick ’em. If you get my meaning.’ This time she didn’t even bother to smile.

They heard the buzz of the crowd even before they saw it bulging from the station exits. Someone inside the concourse was using a loudhailer, the speech largely unintelligible, though as they neared the entrance, Vee caught the words ‘enemy action’.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked of a spivvy-looking type in a pinstripe suit.

‘Search me. No trains, anyhow.’

‘No trains?’ Noel would be cross, she thought. And worried.

‘I’ll go see,’ said Mario, wading through the crowd, Vee and the others following him like a string of barges. The amplified words became clearer. ‘ALL LONDON–BRIGHTON LINES CURRENTLY CLOSED DUE TO ENEMY ACTION.’

‘I’ll get bloody cashiered if I’m not on duty tomorrow,’ said a voice close to Vee’s ear.

‘Hoi!’ shouted a sailor. ‘You have to tell us more than that. When’s there going to be a train?’

More voices joined the first, and there was a surge from behind, so that Vee was pushed towards the barriers.