1940
At last Charlie and Tim were posted to an operational squadron.
‘Spitfires,’ Tim said. ‘Just look at them.’
The planes were lined up along the airfield. The sleek lines were beautiful, Charlie thought, but the aircraft was intimidating. Its beauty hid a mighty beast, one that he would have to learn to control.
They had more lectures – Tim complaining again – then they actually sat in the cockpit of a Spitfire. They must learn where the controls were: know them with their eyes shut, literally. Charlie chose not to think about smoke-filled cockpits, or worse. They practised taxiing. The Spit had a long nose with no forward vision and they had to swing from side to side to see where they were going.
Then at last on a clear blue-sky day, they went solo. Charlie was strapped in at the edge of the runway. ‘Can’t give you any dual training, obviously,’ his instructor said cheerfully. ‘You’re on your own. Just get in and get on with it.’
Charlie opened the throttle, not knowing quite what to expect. The Merlin engine roared in front of him. He reached flying speed and the Spitfire rose gracefully into the air. The aircraft was a complete surprise. This great machine responded like a dream – no pushing or pulling on the controls. A gentle touch was all that was needed. Now he knew why they said that playing the piano was good training – flying a Spitfire was gentle, sensitive, like touching the keys. You just had to stroke it, breathe on it, and it obeyed you. It turned on a sixpence and it came out of a spin like a lady. He climbed to 5,000 feet and threw it about the sky a bit. It was far, far better than he’d ever expected. He flew lower and looked below him at the English countryside, at the neat fields and the farms and the woods. Now, in this fabulous machine, he really felt like a dragon-killer. It reminded him of Arthur. He wondered what he was doing now.
They gathered in the mess in the evening. ‘What do you think?’ Tim said.
Charlie smiled, a daft, dreamy smile. ‘Brilliant. I think I’m in love.’
Tim laughed. ‘We can play dogfights tomorrow. Chase each other around. Bet I shoot you down.’
‘Two pints says you don’t.’
They ceremoniously undid the top button of their uniform jackets – the self-awarded privilege of being fighter pilots.
A new pilot had joined the mess, posted back from France. He was the only one they’d met who’d actually been in combat. They gathered round him, eager to hear what he had to say. ‘I think I got one,’ he said, ‘a 109, but you can’t be absolutely sure. It’s like a madhouse for a bit, and then it all stops – everybody disappears.’ He swallowed a mouthful of beer. ‘Don’t underestimate them – the Germans. They’re good. They’ve been well trained. I think their 109s are a bit faster than the Spits but the Spit will out-turn them every time. Get above them, come in out of the sun and get in close. Two hundred yards is a reasonable range, or even closer if you can. No further out.’
They plied him with beer. He became faintly philosophical. ‘Don’t be mistaken about them,’ he said. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you that they’re good chaps and just like us. They’ve been shooting up refugees on the roads – women and children. They’re bastards. We’ve got to get them – do what our squadron leader said – get in amongst them and shoot them down.’
Charlie managed to get a word with him on his own. ‘What’s it really like?’ he said.
‘Piece of cake,’ the pilot said. He grinned. ‘Haven’t had any brown trousers yet. You’re too busy. I suppose you get a bit sweaty afterwards. But it’s all right. It doesn’t last.’ He was smiling, but the smile faded suddenly. Charlie asked no more.
The next day Charlie met his instructor on the field. ‘I’m coming up in another aircraft, Charlie,’ he said. ‘And I’m going to shoot you down.’ He grinned. ‘Theoretically, of course.’
They took off together. Charlie climbed away at once and did a neat stall turn. He looked around him, circled, flew lower, trying to remember the lectures on combat manoeuvres. There seemed to be no sign of his instructor. Have I lost him, he thought? Already? That didn’t seem to be too difficult. He began to feel rather pleased with himself.
The voice came over the radio. ‘Takatakatakatak. I’m on your tail, Charlie. You’re a dead man.’
‘God,’ Charlie said aloud. If he hadn’t been strapped in he’d have jumped out of his seat.
After a few more abortive attempts on Charlie’s part to escape his instructor, they landed and debriefed. ‘Not bad, Charlie,’ his instructor said, ‘but it needs more work. Do not ever hang about wondering who’s there or where they’ve gone. Do your bit and when you run out of ammo get out. And never, never, follow a damaged aircraft down. Let it go, or you’ll be a sitting duck and some other crafty sod will get you. Don’t do anything predictable, don’t fly straight and level for more than a few seconds.’
March wore on; the weather grew warmer. The pilots stripped to the waist and spent their spare time filling sandbags to build up protective walls around the aircraft. There were sporadic reports of encounters in France: some pilots dead, some safely bailed out, some taken prisoner. The loss of pilots was already deeply worrying. Where were their trained replacements to come from? It was all taking too long. The losses in France were too many, for very little tangible return. The Germans weren’t retreating.
Charlie flew and flew. He began to feel that his aircraft was part of himself, an extension of his will. He began to feel that he might be ready. More than ready. He wanted to get in there, have that first real experience, prove to himself that he could do it, prove himself in battle. But still their bombers didn’t come.
Tessa joined Rita in the dissecting room. ‘We’ll start on the lung, shall we?’ she said. She pointed with her forceps. ‘That must be the pulmonary artery.’
Rita seemed distracted, distressed. She opened her book, but closed it again, and began to cry.
‘Rita,’ Tessa said. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’
‘I can’t do this,’ Rita said.
‘What? Dissection? What’s happened? It’s never bothered you before.’
‘No, it’s not that.’
Rita wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘My fiancé wants us to get married now, right away. He’ll be going to France any minute. I can’t say no, can I? And I don’t want to.’
‘Let’s pack this up,’ Tessa said, ‘and go back to college. We can’t talk here.’
They sat in Tessa’s little room. ‘I’m going to marry him,’ Rita said. ‘He’s going into all that danger. I can’t make him wait. He might not …’ She began to cry again.
‘Look,’ Tessa said. ‘I’m sure you won’t have to leave. Surely they’ll let you stay, under the circumstances? The war won’t go on for ever.’
‘He wants to have a child,’ Rita said, ‘before it’s too late. I can’t do this and have a baby. I’ve made up my mind.’
Tessa found that she was, to her surprise, rather shocked. ‘Does he really want you to give up all this?’
Rita stared at her, her face drawn. ‘He might be giving up his life, Tessa. You don’t seem to understand. What can I give, compared with that?’
Tessa was ashamed. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She took Rita’s hand. ‘That was a stupid thing I said. I don’t know much, do I? I’m sure you won’t be the only one leaving. Would you like me to come with you to see the principal?’
Rita got up. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it myself, but thanks.’ She smiled a thin smile. ‘I just want to make him happy. I love him, you see. More than anything.’
Tessa sat for a few minutes after she’d gone. Rita was right, she thought, and how could she have been so insensitive? Was she really that hard? She was terrified by the thought that something might happen to Charlie, or her parents or Grandpa. But a man – a lover or a husband? She had no experience, had never loved anyone in that way. She couldn’t imagine herself having to make such a choice. Doing medicine was all she had ever wanted. She got up and moved restlessly around the room, straightening the books on her table. The answer was not to get involved with anyone, not with what was going on in the world. It would be difficult enough, without that. And yet she felt a kind of emptiness; a longing, an isolation.
She stared out of the window at the college garden, coming into bloom now, the buds of spring tentatively opening. Despite the war, she felt that lifting of the heart that spring always brought: new hopes, new beginnings. She leant her forehead against the window. Not to get involved, that was the thing, not step over that line. But she was well aware that she’d been thinking about Tim almost continuously since they’d met, half-hoping that he would contact her in some way. More than half-hoping. He seemed nice, that was all: a nice friend. Charlie’s friend.
On Saturday there was a knock at her door – one of the college maids. ‘There’s a gentleman downstairs asking to see you,’ she said. ‘He’s in RAF uniform.’
Tessa felt fear flare up, a new and horrifying fear. What was it? Something to do with Charlie? Had something happened to him? Had they sent someone to tell her? Or had Charlie come to tell her some awful news from home? She hadn’t heard of any raids on London. She hurried down the stairs.
Tim was waiting in the entrance hall, smiling. ‘Hello, Tessa,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a twenty-four-hour pass, so I thought I’d come to see you. Do you mind? I can go away again.’
She was flooded with relief, and with something else: pleasure at seeing him, pleasure at knowing that he wanted to see her. ‘No,’ she said, smiling back. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Can you come to lunch?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think so. Will you wait? I’ll get my coat.’ She ran back up the stairs. He’s come, she thought. I knew he’d come.
They lunched at the University Arms hotel. Tessa found herself feeling unusually shy, not her normal free-and-easy self. She found it difficult to meet his eye. Every time she did he smiled at her – a warm smile.
‘How’s Charlie?’ she asked.
‘He’s fine. He’s fallen in love with his Spitfire. Utterly besotted.’
Tessa laughed. ‘So I understand.’
‘He’s flying this weekend, so he couldn’t come, but he knows I’m here. He sends you his love.’
They chatted, through lunch, of life before the war. ‘Charlie said you were up at Oxford,’ Tessa said. ‘What were you reading?’
‘PPE,’ he said. ‘Philosophy, Politics and Economics. My father seems to have some idea that I might go into politics.’
‘Might you?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Who knows what the world will be like after the war. The old kind of politics might not do.’
‘If we win.’
He grinned. ‘Oh, we’ll win. They’d have to get past Charlie and me.’
She laughed. ‘I’ll stop worrying, then.’ She stirred a small spoonful of sugar into her coffee, surprised that it was still being offered. ‘Things will have to be different, though. My mother says some of the slums are terrible. Those children …’
‘We’ve got a job to do first,’ he said. ‘That’s all I can think about at the moment.’
She pushed her coffee cup away. ‘I feel so useless here. There’s you and Charlie flying, and girls working in munitions factories and on the land, and I’m just here, as usual, as if nothing had happened.’
‘You’re not doing nothing, Tessa,’ he said quietly, ‘you’re keeping going – doing what you have to do. You’ve no idea how important that is, keeping normality, keeping the country as it should be, as we remember it. You’ve no idea how lovely it is just to be here, in this spectacular old town, with a – a friend.’
She sensed something in his voice, some reticence, some withdrawal. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Has something happened?’
He forced away the memory of the accident. ‘No,’ he said, smiling. ‘Flying’s wonderful. I’m just as besotted as Charlie.’ He glanced away from her, but she caught something in his eyes, a look that struck her as strange – perhaps some kind of bizarre amusement.
They walked along the Backs in the thin sunshine, the river flowing quietly past the great, ancient buildings, King’s College Chapel catching the rays of sunlight. She thought of the masons who had built it, generations of them, most of whom never lived to see it completed. They built for the future, for a thousand years. They had never imagined that someone could drop a bomb on it from above, and destroy it in one horrible second. She stopped and looked at it, a lump in her throat.
‘I know,’ Tim said. ‘It isn’t going to happen.’
‘I hope not.’
They had tea at the Copper Kettle.
‘Where do you live, Tim?’ she asked.
‘I have a little flat in London,’ he said. ‘My parents are divorced, so there’s no real family home – or perhaps I’ve got two.’
‘Oh.’ Tessa was surprised, and then annoyed with herself for showing it. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘It’s not exactly happy families, is it? I don’t mind now. They made sure I was well looked after – the right school and all that.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t think it’s done me any harm.’
‘I’m sure it hasn’t,’ she said.
‘Not that it matters much now, does it?’ He looked away, over the river. ‘It doesn’t matter much about your background now. All roads lead to war.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ she said.
‘I’d better get back,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll get a taxi to the station.’ He walked with her back to college and they stopped outside the door. ‘It’s been a lovely day, Tessa,’ he said. ‘May I come to see you again?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’
He touched her hand and walked away down the street, not looking back. What must it be like, she thought, to be like Rita and thousands of other women, to see someone you love walk away like this into God knows what? I don’t think I could do it. How would you bear it? She went up to her room, took off her coat and sat down at her table with Gray’s Anatomy. Then she got up and looked out of the window. He said he would come again.
Nora started work on Monday morning. Amy showed her round the house, and the flat, in case she ever wanted to use it.
Nora looked around her with considerable pleasure, and some relief. It was a comfortable home, that was all, not some kind of inhabited museum like some of the houses she’d seen. She thought she could cope with this.
Her first job seemed to be the shopping, getting the family rations. She took the ration books to their registered shop and waited for the grocer to pat out the little rectangle of butter they were allowed, some cheese, not on ration – yet, and weigh out a few ounces of bacon. She went on to the butcher and, wonder of wonders, managed to get a rabbit, still off ration. If there was one thing she knew how to do it was make a rabbit pie. Jim said her pastry was the best. Then she joined the queues for everything: potatoes, vegetables, bread. When she got settled, she’d make the bread herself. Jim thought that was the best too.
The housework seemed fairly easy – dusting, polishing, making the beds. She’d done it all before. Doctor Fielding might or might not be home for a sandwich at lunchtime. Her husband was Mr Fielding, she’d discovered. Surgeons were called Mister, not Doctor. Funny that, she thought. If you’d taken the trouble to be a doctor, surely you’d like to call yourself one. If Sara ever did it, she’d call her ‘Doctor’ to everybody. My daughter, the doctor.
She dusted the study, looking at the rows of books on the shelves. There were several rows of medical and science books. She opened one or two. It all sounded like Greek. She wondered again whether she might have understood all this – if she’d ever had the chance. Sara understood it all, the maths and the physics and the chemistry. She sat down with a chemistry book on her lap – elements, compounds, something called the periodic table. Greek again. We could have done all this, she thought, Jim and me, if there was any justice in the world. She looked out at the garden, all dug up now, planted with vegetables. Justice? How could there be another war, so soon? How could Jim be away, in danger of his life in a ship, perhaps killing someone? He was a carpenter, that’s all. He made furniture.
She put the books away and went into the kitchen to start preparing dinner. The rabbit had to be skinned and jointed and the pastry made. She had found, to her great surprise, that there was a refrigerator in the kitchen. The only other ones she’d ever seen were in shops selling ice cream and they let out a cloud of steam when they were opened. She wasn’t really sure what to do with it.
Perhaps one day, she thought, Sara would have a house like this. She’d have a telephone and a refrigerator and everything. If that happened, she’d die happy.
Sara arrived at half past four. Nora took her into the kitchen and gave her a biscuit and a glass of milk. She settled her at the kitchen table to do her homework. She looked over Sara’s shoulder. ‘What are you doing now?’ she said.
‘Algebra.’
Nora looked at the jumble of figures and letters. ‘How do you study?’ she said. ‘What do you do?’
Sara looked up at her mother, wondering how to reply, how to describe something that was second nature to her. ‘I have to understand it,’ she said, ‘and then I have to remember it.’ Nora sighed. ‘You could do it, Mum,’ Sara said. ‘I could teach you.’
Nora laughed. ‘Not in a million years. What would I want with algebra?’ She looked round the kitchen, at the things she’d laid out to do the pastry. This is my life, she thought, cooking and cleaning. And it’s fine, as long as Sara is all right and Jim gets home again and gets a job. Maths, physics, chemistry, algebra. Such wonderful things. Bombs, guns, cruelty and killing; what a world. She began to make the pastry.
Amy came home to a delicious smell from the kitchen. Thank goodness, she thought. Thank goodness for Nora. She was tired out. Her patients were worried and upset, wondering what was going to happen. Mothers especially were on edge about the children, thinking that every little cough or cold was some dreadful disease. There were awful rumours that the Germans were somehow dropping diseases on the country. All nonsense, of course.
She followed her nose into the kitchen. Nora was standing at the sink, finishing off the potatoes. ‘Hello Doctor,’ she said. ‘This is my daughter, Sara.’
The little girl stood up. Not so little, Amy thought. Going to be as tall as her mother, and really quite pretty. She looked shy, intelligent though, with direct blue eyes. Amy held out her hand. ‘Hello, Sara,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’ Sara took her hand briefly. ‘Your mother tells me you want to be a doctor.’ Sara nodded. ‘If you want to borrow any books,’ Amy said, ‘just take them. I expect your mother knows where they are.’
‘Thank you,’ Sara said.
Amy turned to Nora. ‘That smells wonderful, Nora. What is it?’
‘Rabbit pie,’ Nora said. ‘Off ration.’
‘Splendid. It’s lovely to have everything done. You can leave it for me to dish up when my husband gets home. You two have your dinner and then get off home. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Nora and Sara went home on the bus. ‘I don’t have to come to their house from school, Mum,’ Sara said. ‘I could just come home and wait for you.’
‘No,’ Nora said. ‘Suppose there was a raid and you there on your own and I couldn’t get to you. I’d go mad.’
‘All right,’ Sara said. ‘I don’t mind. Doctor Fielding seems very nice.’
On Saturday morning Amy took a cup of tea out to Dan, who was digging out the pit in the garden for the Anderson shelter. It was going to be a lovely weekend – Charlie was coming home on a forty-eight. Dan parked his spade in the pit. ‘Nearly there,’ he said. ‘We can get the roof on soon.’
Amy looked down into the damp hole, just about big enough for a bunk bed and a couple of chairs. ‘Real home from home,’ she said.
Dan wiped his brow on his sleeve and sat down on a garden seat. Amy sat beside him. ‘Fancy having to do this,’ he said. ‘Holes in the ground, like animals. What a world.’
‘What do you think, darling?’ she said. ‘What’s happening? Do we really have to do this shelter? It looks terrible. I can’t imagine sleeping in there.’
‘It can’t go on like this,’ he said. ‘It’s all too normal. We’re just treating ordinary everyday cases in the hospital. All those empty beds everywhere – just waiting.’
Amy had a sudden memory of the hospital she’d helped to prepare in Paris in 1914, of standing in the ward the night before they opened, looking at the rows of empty beds – just waiting. And then of the shock of the wounded men arriving, wounds she had never seen before, bodies torn and injured beyond belief. She closed her eyes briefly. Not again, she thought. Dear God, not again.
Dan drank his tea. ‘Sooner or later they’ll invade France. Either that, or call the whole thing off, and they won’t do that, not unless we agree to their terms, and I don’t think that’s going to happen.’
Amy looked at his worried face. ‘What then?’
He shrugged. ‘We’ll fight,’ he said. ‘France isn’t very far away, is it? Twenty-odd miles from Dover. Thank God for the Channel.’
‘Let’s forget the war,’ she said, ‘just for the weekend. Did I tell you that Charlie is bringing his friend, Tim?’
‘Good,’ Dan said. ‘They can help me get the top on this damn thing. I’ll need some muscle.’ He got up and picked up his spade.
The phone rang in the house and Nora appeared at the door. ‘It’s Tessa,’ she called.
‘Now what?’ Dan said.
Amy hurried into the house and came out again, beaming. ‘She’s coming home too,’ she said. ‘The college has let her out for the weekend to see Charlie. Won’t it be lovely – all being together again.’
He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Sorry I was grumpy. It’s all that digging.’
Charlie and Tim arrived just before lunch. Amy settled them into their rooms and then took Charlie into the kitchen to meet Nora. ‘Mrs Lewis has saved our lives,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without her.’ Nora smiled and shook his hand.
They went out into the garden to Dan, and passed Sara in the hall. ‘Who’s the kid?’ Charlie asked.
‘That’s Sara,’ Amy said. ‘Mrs Lewis’s little girl.’
Dan gave Charlie a hug and shook Tim’s hand. ‘There’s more good news,’ Amy said. ‘Tessa’s coming home. She’ll be here after lunch.’
‘Jolly good,’ Charlie said.
Amy noticed the look of quick pleasure on Tim’s face. What’s this, she thought? Has something happened here? ‘Have you met Tessa, Tim,’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Twice. In Cambridge.’
Tim was being very close, she thought. He said very little but he hadn’t been able to hide his pleasure – not from a mother.
Dan dusted off his hands. ‘We’ll have lunch,’ he said. ‘Then you can both help me with this thing.’
At lunch Dan tried to ask them about what they were doing. They glanced quickly at each other, and replied with jokes and silly stories. ‘Being lectured,’ Tim said, ‘and filling sandbags.’ Charlie nearly made a joke of being shot down, theoretically, by his instructor, but stopped himself in time. His mother would not appreciate that.
They won’t talk about it, Amy thought, just as she found it almost impossible to talk about the last war to anyone but Dan. The words wouldn’t come. The boys hadn’t been in battle yet, but they knew it was coming. They were not going to discuss their feelings, or their preparations of body and mind. They are men now, she thought, in their own world. They are more at home there.
Tessa arrived after lunch, looking, Amy thought, quite blooming. She flung her arms around Amy and Dan and Charlie and shook Tim’s hand. Amy watched her. She couldn’t detect any change in Tessa when she looked at Tim, but Tim’s expression was unmistakable. I wonder, she thought, what went on in Cambridge?
Tessa and the boys went out to have a look at the hole in the garden. Amy watched them out of the window, laughing and chatting.
Dan came up behind her. ‘Seems like a nice young man, Tim,’ he said. ‘I’m glad Charlie’s got a friend.’
She took his hand and he put his arm around her. ‘He likes Tessa,’ she said. ‘I can tell.’
‘That’s not surprising,’ he said. ‘Everybody likes Tessa.’
‘You know what I mean,’ she said.’ ‘I can tell by the way he looks at her.’
‘And do you think she likes him?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s not a good idea, is it? The way things are.’
‘Amy,’ he said, ’they’re young and full of life. You can’t stop nature. You can’t stop young people doing what they do.’
She leant against him. ‘I know. It’s just … all those boys in the last war. Oh Dan.’
‘Amy, you can’t stop people loving each other – thank God,’ he said. ‘It gives us a reason for living, doesn’t it? War or no war. It didn’t stop me falling in love with you.’
She turned and put her arms around him. ‘I love you,’ she said.
Charlie and Tim changed into civvies and helped Dan to wrestle the corrugated roof over the shelter and cover it with earth. ‘It’s horrible,’ Tessa said. ‘I hope we don’t ever have to sleep in it. It smells.’
They came in to tea.
‘Would you two go and bring it in?’ Amy said. ‘Mrs Lewis will be busy with dinner.’
‘I’ll go and wash.’ Charlie disappeared upstairs.
Tessa went into the kitchen. ‘Hello Sara,’ she said. ‘Still at it?’
Sara was sitting at the table, a book in front of her. She nodded, ‘Yes.’
‘Still want to be a doctor?’
Sara smiled broadly. ‘Oh yes.’
‘You can always ask me,’ Tessa said, ‘anything you want to know.’
Charlie came in. ‘I’m famished,’ he said. ‘Hello Sara. I’m Charlie.’
‘How do you do,’ she said.
He leant over her shoulder. ‘What are you reading?’
‘Biology.’
‘Another brain,’ he said. ‘I’m surrounded by brains. You must be very proud of her, Mrs Lewis.’
‘Oh, I am,’ Nora said. ‘I am.’
They carried in the tea. ‘How about going out this evening?’ Charlie said. ‘A bit of dining and dancing. We could go to the Café de Paris again.’
‘Oh yes,’ Tessa said. ‘We don’t get much dancing, do we?’
‘Are they having the May Balls at Cambridge this year?’ Dan said.
‘I think so,’ Tessa said. ‘That’s if there are any men around to take us.’ Amy saw her glance briefly at Tim, and saw his quick smile.
In the evening the three of them came into the sitting room. Amy’s heart turned over. They look so beautiful, she thought, the boys in their uniforms, and Tessa in an evening dress, so fresh and pretty. ‘Have a good time,’ she said.
Dan tucked a five-pound note into Charlie’s pocket. ‘Thanks Dad,’ he said. ‘We’re not exactly overpaid.’
They arrived at the Café de Paris and were given a table and ordered dinner.
‘Wartime food,’ Charlie said. He took out the five-pound note. ‘Still, we can afford champagne.’
Over coffee Charlie looked around the room. ‘There’s a nice-looking girl over there,’ he said. ‘The redhead. I think I’ll ask her to dance.’
‘You don’t know her, Charlie,’ Tessa said.
‘Wartime.’ Charlie grinned. ‘Anything goes.’ He tapped his chest. ‘And I’ve got the wings.’ He set off across the room.
‘I think you’re stuck with me,’ Tim said.
They stood up together; Tim slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close. ‘That’s nice,’ he said.
She said nothing. Slowly she leant her head against his shoulder and he rested his cheek against her hair.
‘Tessa,’ he said. ‘Tessa.’
For a moment she leant against him, but then she pulled away and laughed. ‘Don’t get serious,’ she said.
He looked down at her. ‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ she said.
He drew her close again. ‘I can’t help it,’ he said.
This time she didn’t pull away.
Nora kissed Sara goodnight. ‘Say a prayer for Dad,’ she said.
‘I always do.’ Sara bit her lip. ‘I wish he was here.’
‘So do I. Maybe he’ll come home soon.’ Nora brightened. ‘They’re nice, aren’t they, the family? Tessa’s nice.’
Sara nodded.
‘And that Charlie,’ Nora went on. ‘I bet he’ll be breaking some hearts.’