On Sundays Armando quite often had family commitments and they could not meet; but when he was free he usually suggested that they should go for a walk. The weather was changeable and they very often had to take shelter in shop doorways from a downpour; but it was the only way they could be alone and it gave an opportunity for stolen kisses, which grew more passionate with every meeting.

They set May’s nerves on fire and turned her insides to liquid, but when Armando’s caresses grew more urgent and she felt his hands move over her body she always drew back. He accepted her restraint, but she could sense his frustration and she began to wonder where their relationship could go from here. Sometimes he would mutter consolingly, ‘One day when …’ but he never finished the sentence. She thought he meant ‘when we are married’, but thinking about it rationally when she was no longer in his arms, she knew that that could not happen for many years. His apprenticeship had four years to run and he would not be in a position to support a wife for some time after that.

On summer Sundays, when they were not able to meet, she often went with some of the other girls to listen to the band that played in the bandstand overlooking the Mersey.

One afternoon, as they were leaving after the concert, she was arrested by a man’s voice.

‘Miss Lavender! It is you, isn’t it?’

James Breckenridge was coming towards her. He took off his hat and looked round the group. ‘Good afternoon, ladies.’

There was a giggle and a mumbled, ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

May blushed with vexation at her companions’ lack of manners but Breckenridge did not seem put out. ‘Did you enjoy the concert?’ he asked. The question was quite obviously addressed to her.

‘Yes, very much,’ she replied.

‘So did I,’ he said. ‘Music raises the spirits, don’t you agree?’

‘Yes, I do.’

He nodded, and seemed about to speak again but thought better of it. ‘I mustn’t intrude. I’ll say good afternoon.’ He gave a little bow, put on his hat and walked away.

‘Ooh, May! Who was that? How do you know him?’ The questions came in a chorus.

‘He’s the son of one of my customers, that’s all,’ May said.

‘Fancy him stopping to talk like that! I reckon he fancies you! Are you sweet on him?’

‘Don’t be silly! I’ve just seen him when he comes to collect his mother from the store. He was being polite, that’s all.’

* * *