Shaking her head, she locked up her own car and began the tiresome walk back to her digs. The streets were very hot after the long summer’s day, but even so she preferred this form of transport to the crowded buses or the Underground. Heat rose off the paving stones in wavy lines, making her dizzy. She paused by a doorway. It had been bomb-damaged, like so much else around the area. Nearby windows were boarded up and there were gaps in the terrace towards the end of the road. She could see the exposed walls of the neighbouring house, and the bright colours of the wallpaper that would once have decorated the bedroom and living-room walls. She wondered what had happened to the family who’d lived there. Had they made it to a shelter on time? It always struck her as sad, thinking of someone choosing that pattern, painting the skirting boards, making a home for their children. Now it was open to everyone’s gaze.

Further along there was a doorway to the street set a little further back, and in the sunlight she couldn’t be sure if there was a figure in it or not. Yes, there was somebody. Maybe some poor soul who’d been bombed out, surveying the remains of a family home. As she approached, she saw it was a man; he straightened up from where he had been leaning against the doorjamb.

‘Laura!’ The voice was husky, as if he had been breathing in the dust that was everywhere. ‘I say, Laura! Over here!’

Laura stopped dead. A chill ran down her back despite the heat of the day.

‘Laura!’ The voice was louder.

She stared ahead. This couldn’t be happening; she was imagining things. Time seemed to stand still as she gazed in disbelief; all the hustle and bustle of the surrounding city faded into silence as she focused on the figure in the doorway.

‘Laura,’ the voice said again. ‘You aren’t seeing things, it really is me, Freddy.’

She ran forward towards him, suppressing a sob as she acknowledged that it was truly Freddy, that dear, familiar figure she’d known all her life. She tried to take in the changes in her handsome brother since last she’d seen him – he was thinner and standing not quite straight, his face etched with worry. His tousled hair was uneven, and did not quite fully mask a deep red scar on his head. Yet she would have known him anywhere. It was Freddy. It really was her long-lost brother Freddy.