‘What shifts are you on this weekend?’ he asked, his mouth close to her ear as yet another group of passengers squeezed inside. ‘I’m off on Sunday. Shall we make a day of it?’

Sylvia sighed and turned towards him. ‘Oh, Frank, I’d love to, but I didn’t know you’d have any free time. I’ve got both days off for once and I promised I’d go to see my parents. It’s been ages, and they worry if I don’t visit them now and again. They think I’ve wasted away or something.’

‘Ah well, never mind.’ Frank knew that was true. Sylvia came from the Lake District, and even though it was in theory in the same corner of England, the journey was often complicated and took ages. He couldn’t blame her for grabbing the chance to spend some time at home. He was lucky – he only had to travel along the Mersey to Bootle to see Dolly and Pop. He couldn’t begrudge her this opportunity to see the parents he knew she missed dearly, even if she rarely admitted it. He reached down and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll enjoy that. Give them my best.’

‘I will.’ Sylvia had been nervous at first to introduce Frank and her parents, never fully sure how he felt about her, but after they’d officially been a couple for six months she’d taken the plunge. Of course, they had loved him, and now they never stopped asking her when he was going to pop the question, but Sylvia couldn’t answer that one. If these had been normal times, things might have been different – and yet without the war, she and Frank would never have met at all. ‘Mum will probably load me up with her home-made jam for you.’

‘I’ll use it to sweeten my landlady,’ Frank laughed. ‘It’s about the only thing that works.’ He’d chosen to live in a service billet rather than go back to the little house on Empire Street, as that was already full to bursting, but his landlady was taciturn at best and mostly plain sour. He didn’t complain – he wasn’t there for entertainment.

‘Excuse me,’ said a trembling voice from behind his shoulder, ‘I hate to ask but …’

Frank swivelled round in his seat and saw an old woman, leaning on a walking stick, making her way unsteadily along the aisle. He stood up immediately. ‘Please. My pleasure.’ He took a firm grip of the well-worn metal pole so he wouldn’t embarrass himself by falling as the bus jerked back into action along the potholed road, and the lady sagged in relief as she sat down. Sylvia shuffled along the seat a little to make room.