‘The letter must have got lost in the post or something, ’cos Mum wrote this back at the very end of March.’ Her face was alight with happiness and relief. ‘They was planning to stay with some friends for a couple of nights in Stepney before moving into their new place, which is just down the road by the look of the address she give me. It seems this Hughes Mansions is ever so smart, and she’d’ve liked to stay there permanent like, but it’s crammed with refugees from Europe and people like Mum and Dad who ain’t got nowhere else to go.’

Peggy thought it rather strange that there hadn’t been a second letter after all this time, but the post was erratic, and it would probably turn up tomorrow now the Post Office had caught up on things.

Ivy seemed to be following the same train of thought. ‘I suppose they’ve been busy moving in and such-like,’ she murmured. ‘But it’s odd she ain’t written again.’

‘Why don’t you write to the new address your mother gave you, and ask her to make a reverse charge call? I expect she’s been busy settling in at the new place, and if it’s a long journey to work and so on, she might not have had time to write, and doesn’t realise how worried you’ve been.’

‘Yeah, I’ll do that,’ Ivy said brightly. ‘Is it all right if I leave the spuds to you, Auntie Peggy? Only I don’t want to miss the last post.’

Peggy waved her off and returned to the sink, deep in thought as she finished peeling and chopping the potatoes. There was, of course, one other explanation as to why Ivy’s mum hadn’t written, but that was almost too dreadful to think about – and surely the authorities would have informed Ivy if anything had happened to her family?

She decided she was making a mountain out of a molehill and imagining all sorts because she was in that sort of blue mood. No doubt Ivy’s letter would bring about a rapid response, and the mystery would soon be solved.

Peggy finished peeling the potatoes and put them on to parboil, then dried her hands and went into the dining room to see how the others were getting on. Balloons and bunting had been strung across the ceiling, tinsel decorated the beautifully laid table, and a large hand-painted poster edged with more tinsel wished the couple well in their new lives in London. ‘My goodness,’ she breathed, ‘you have been busy.’

‘It isn’t too much, is it?’ asked Sarah with a frown.

‘Not at all. It’s lovely and earns you all a nice cup of tea to wash away the dust.’