‘It’s not your mother’s way,’ Cordelia said softly. ‘Peggy is a strong woman who has her own method of dealing with things.’ She glanced up the stairs at the sound of footsteps in the bathroom. ‘Yet even the strongest of us can be brought to breaking point, Cissy, and it’s only their inner core of steel that will give them the strength to fight on – and your mother has proved time and again that she will not be beaten.’

Cordelia struggled to stand. ‘Come on, Cissy. Everyone’s left for work and Rita’s busy upstairs, with Daisy helping to tidy that tip of a room she and Ivy share. We can have the kitchen to ourselves for a while and you can tell me what that conversation was all about.’

Cissy put the kettle on whilst Cordelia closed the door into the hall so Peggy could slip downstairs to her bedroom without being seen. Once the tea was made, Cissy sat down opposite Cordelia and told her the whole unedifying story.

Cordelia listened with increasing sadness. ‘Poor, poor Peggy,’ she murmured, dabbing away her tears. ‘How cruel life can be. The disappointment must be killing her.’

Neither of them heard the door open so didn’t realise Peggy was standing there. ‘Hitler didn’t manage to finish me off, and neither will a bit of disappointment,’ she said, coming into the kitchen, her hair and make-up immaculate and looking very businesslike in a new navy pinstripe costume. ‘They’ll come home eventually. I’ll just have to be patient, that’s all.’

She looked around the room. ‘Where’s Daisy? I have to get to work.’

Cissy wanted to embrace her but knew instinctively that any sign of affection at that moment would break Peggy’s brittle veneer. ‘I’ll go and get her. She’s helping Rita with her room.’

‘Lord help us,’ sighed Peggy. ‘She could get lost in the mess and never be found again.’

As Cissy hurried upstairs, Cordelia regarded Peggy over her glasses. ‘Peggy Reilly, you’re a marvel and an example to us all.’

‘No, I’m not, Cordy,’ she said, firmly meeting Cordelia’s gaze. ‘I’m just an ordinary woman who has to accept that her children are grown and making new lives for themselves.’ There was a tremor in her voice which she brought swiftly under control. ‘They’ll come home when they’re ready, and even if it’s only for a short while, I shall make the most of them while I can, and not make them feel guilty – but free to be the people they were meant to be, and go their own way. After all, Cordy, that’s why we’ve just fought a war, isn’t it? For freedom.’

4