Poor Violet would never know that support from her husband again. The young woman moved through rooms like a ghost, barely speaking, her face pale and her body shaking as if she was cold all the time, even though it was the height of summer. Much of the time she stayed in her bedroom. It was as if the old Violet, the one who never kept still but was always helping at the shop or the victory garden or the WVS, had totally disappeared. She hardly spoke. The only times she seemed at all lively were when Georgie or baby Ellen were in the house. Then she would stir herself and try to play with them like she used to, but it wasn’t the same. Georgie had picked up that something was wrong, but Dolly couldn’t find the words to explain to him. He was only four, and he had barely known Eddy, after all.

There was the sound of movement upstairs and then the creaking of the stair boards. Dolly looked up, pushing a lock of greying hair out of her eye, as Violet came into the kitchen, walking slowly and stiffly, her shabby dress hanging off her always-lanky frame. She said nothing as Dolly tried to catch her eye, but went straight through to the back kitchen and out of the back door, before Dolly heard the slam of the privy door. Then, although she tried not to listen, there followed the unmistakeable heaves of someone being sick. Poor Violet. But what had happened to her was enough to make anyone sick. Wasn’t it? Dolly thought dully that for two pins she’d join her.

After a few minutes the back door opened again. Dolly could see Violet fetching a glass of water and sipping it standing at the sink. She set it down and held on to the draining board, as if she didn’t have the strength to stand unaided. Dolly’s heart went out to her.

‘Come and sit down, love,’ she called, hauling herself to her feet. ‘What can I get you to help you feel better? How about a nice cuppa?’

Violet gulped but tried to smile. ‘No thanks, Mam. It’s too hot, really it is.’

Dolly pondered what else she might have to offer. ‘We’ve got some peppermint cordial somewhere. Or our Frank brought over some ginger beer the other day.’

Violet shook her head then changed her mind. ‘Maybe some ginger beer.’ She managed to drag herself into the main kitchen, leaning on the cupboards for support, and collapsed into the saggy armchair.

Dolly went to the big slate larder shelf, where even in July she could keep foodstuffs cool. In behind the milk and precious ration of butter she found the ginger beer, and brought it through with a glass. ‘There you are, my girl. That’ll set you right.’