Theo took his drink and sat in one of the nearby booths to wait for Virginia, the plush upholstery sinking under his weary limbs, and he closed his eyes. The musicians were doing improv, then songs he didn’t recognize, until he heard the sweet and somber tone of a Charlie Parker number. He hadn’t heard this kind of music for months, not since he’d visited an after-hours club with his friends in Harlem, where Dizzy Gillespie had been playing a set with Parker and Earl Hines. Virginia was taking her time coming over, so he listened to the music and reflected on how it had felt to fly home: seeing the fog rise off the Hudson and watching proudly as the city came into view, the rising sun gilding the Manhattan skyline.

He must have drifted off because the next thing he knew the seat next to him sank down and something brushed lightly across his cheek. He inhaled Virginia’s distinct floral scent, and as he opened his eyes, her lips pressed against his. “Hello, sleepyhead,” she whispered. “How’s your pa?”

“No change since you saw him. He’s putting on a good show of things, though, keeping the little staff they have busy.”

Virginia glanced back at her group of friends, the birthday girl waving her over. His fiancée’s profile was revealed in silhouette, her feline nose and her chin elongated under the harsh light, altogether stronger compared to Alice’s gently sloping nose and heart-shaped face, features that now felt more familiar.

When she glanced back round, he was still staring.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, except it wasn’t, and no amount of showers or shaves or sleep was going to change it. “You go be with your pals. I’ll be over in a minute.”

“And then we’ll go off, just the two of us?”

“Of course.”

They did, but it wasn’t the reunion he’d imagined it would be. Virginia seemed too caught up with her crowd, and although she was still volunteering at the Red Cross station, she was surprisingly unfamiliar with the broader events of the war. Their conversation glided over the weeks they’d been separated—how everyone was and what they were doing—but she asked him very little about London.

At the end of the evening he felt dissatisfied; despite the abundance of food and drink, the champagne and easy laughter, there was something deeply unfulfilling about spending time with his fiancée. The experience was a stark contrast to what he’d left behind: to sheltering from the cold and rain in warm cafés, to the robust discussions around the Partridge meeting table, and to being welcomed into their homes to share hard-won meals from rations that had been queued for and carefully cooked. He suddenly couldn’t relate to Virginia’s world, even though it should have been his too.