Kitty gave in to the inevitable, standing and making her way out from behind the table, as Pop leant across to reach for his accordion. She glanced across at Frank, whose face was full of warm encouragement. She had been a bit surprised that there had been no sign of Sylvia today. She’d kept half expecting her to turn up at the door, but Sylvia hadn’t appeared and Frank hadn’t said anything about her not being there; he’d seemed perfectly cheerful at the big family gathering without her. Kitty had allowed a brief but guilty thought that they might not be an item any more, but then remembered she’d heard that the young Wren’s father was ill. So it might not mean anything, and she wouldn’t read anything into her absence. ‘What will it be, Pop?’

Pop thought for a moment and then played the opening bars of ‘Silent Night’.

The chatter came to a stop. The whole group of family and friends paused expectantly, and then Kitty began to sing: quietly but true, her gorgeous voice filling the room.

For a moment Violet, alone in the back kitchen but watching through the connecting door, turned away. Eddy’s favourite carol. Surely everyone would be thinking that – Pop would have chosen it deliberately. Her husband would never play it on the piano again. She wiped a tear from her eye with the cuff of her sleeve, wishing with all her heart he was here with them, waiting with her for their longed-for child to be born.

Frank watched Kitty as she sang; this was what Christmas was all about. He shut his eyes, blotting out all other thoughts, of the pressures of work, of the progress of the war, or of Sylvia. He let the tune float through his mind, all the familiar cadences, the age-old story, the harmony that someone – probably Pop – was humming. He wanted the moment to last for ever.

But then Pop broke into a livelier tune, ‘Run Rabbit Run’, and everyone joined in, breaking the magic spell. Kitty’s voice was just one of many, and he knew he had to let her go, to turn away from whatever it was that seemed to connect them, no matter how he tried to persuade himself otherwise. There was no getting away from the fact he was damaged goods, and maybe she’d always think of him that way.

‘Penny for ’em, Frank!’ called Danny, and Frank smiled and laughed and said he was miles away.

‘We know a cure for that – pass the lad another tot of rum,’ said Pop, and Frank accepted a glass and pretended he was in the best of spirits.