Peggy nodded, her expression sad. ‘It’s all a terrible mess, but there’s nothing any of us can do but be there when she needs us.’ She put her arm about Rita’s narrow waist. ‘And I don’t disapprove of Peter – I’m just concerned you’ll get into a similar tangle.’

Rita rested her head on Peggy’s shoulder. ‘Please don’t worry about me, Aunty Peg. I’m a big girl now, and can take care of myself.’

Peggy kissed her, her thoughts flying to Cissy who’d been inclined to get romantically attached at the drop of a hat until she’d met her American pilot – and then wistfully remembered herself at Rita’s age. She’d thought she’d known it all too, but in reality she’d been little more than a child when she’d met and married Jim in haste. She harboured no regrets, for the marriage was a happy one, but she knew how very lucky she was to have found the right man when so many girls of her generation had rushed into things only to find they’d made the most awful mistake.

Sunday lunch was an absolute triumph – a rare feast in these austere days, to be savoured and celebrated. Everyone was in party mood as they tucked in, and Peggy decided that a bottle of Ron’s rather lethal parsnip wine was in order. Consequently they were all a little tipsy as they sat back, replete and contented.

Peggy lit a cigarette. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had a proper Sunday lunch,’ she said. ‘And I’d forgotten how delicious roast lamb can be.’ She smiled at Rita. ‘Peter certainly knows the way to a woman’s heart.’

Rita went a bit pink as she gathered the dirty plates for Ivy to carry to the sink. ‘He’ll probably turn up in the week, so you can thank him then.’

‘It’s a shame Ron missed out,’ said Peggy. ‘He used to love his Sunday roast.’

‘I’ve put his share on a plate, so all he has to do is warm it up and add hot gravy when he gets back from the Anchor,’ said Ivy, busy washing dishes at the sink. ‘The fat’s been run off and put in a jug, and I’ve scraped the bone so Queenie and Harvey get their share.’

‘I’ll boil the bone for stock,’ said Peggy dreamily. ‘It’ll certainly add some flavour to the next rabbit stew.’

‘To be sure I’ve had enough rabbit to last me a lifetime,’ muttered Fran. ‘When this war’s over, I never want to see another one.’

‘We’re all jolly lucky Ron brings those rabbits home,’ said Cordelia, eyeing Fran over her half-moon glasses. ‘He’s not much use in the scheme of things, but you can’t deny that he’s a good provider of meat when most people have to go without.’