‘Well, you never know,’ said Dolly, who had never regretted having five children, her heart full of love for all of them, even though she couldn’t remember when she’d last had a minute’s peace. A large family was a blessing. She’d known far bigger families back in Ireland, and five seemed nothing in comparison. Her children were the centre of her world, and she wanted nothing more than for them to have the chance to feel the same.

‘We’ll see,’ said Rita, calm again. ‘First let’s see if we can come through this war, and then I can have my Jack back with me all the time. He hasn’t even seen Ellen yet. He’s counting the days until Easter – he can’t wait to meet her.’

‘Of course he is!’ said Dolly, with extra enthusiasm to hide her secret worry that Jack would have his leave cancelled at the last minute, as so often happened. If Rita was openly concerned that Eddy wouldn’t make it back on time, then the same risk must apply to Jack. She would have to keep her fingers crossed that both young men would manage to get the leave they’d been promised. ‘Anyway,’ she said with a sly note, ‘by the time you have the baby after that, Sid might be home and then he and Nancy can be godparents to that little one.’

‘Hmm. Maybe.’ Rita knew she must not speak ill of a prisoner of war, but if he was still the same old Sid, then there was no way on earth she’d entrust a child of hers to him. Then again, he would be changed by his experiences when he came home – if he came home.

Dolly patted Ellen’s back, through the layers of knitted blankets wrapped around her, at least one of which she’d made in her make-do-and-mend class. ‘So you’ve got Kitty and Sarah as godmothers,’ she said. ‘You’ve got Danny as the godfather. That’s not right, is it? Don’t you want another godfather, even if you can’t have Eddy?’

‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ Rita shook her head. ‘I must be getting forgetful with all the lack of sleep. It’s already been settled ages ago. We’ve asked Frank, of course.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Nancy Kerrigan was spitting with suppressed fury, with nobody to vent it on. ‘Hurry up and boil,’ she muttered at the tea urn, which Mrs Moyes had asked her to see to while she herself made sure everything was ready to open up in the WVS canteen in the city centre. The urn refused to do so, making what was already a bad morning even worse.