35

Naomi was catching a few minutes’ rest while Nicholas was having his afternoon nap when there was a sharp rap on her door. She heaved herself to her feet and when she opened the door she found Shirley Newman outside.

‘Shirley,’ she said, standing aside for her to come in, ‘what can I do for you?’

‘I got some news I thought you’d want to hear,’ Shirley said, flopping down into a chair. She and Naomi had remained friends over the months they’d both been living in Feneton, but they were not close. Naomi was busy, living and working at the Feneton Arms and Shirley, tired of being at the beck and call of her cousin, Maud, had found work in a factory outside Ipswich and went in daily on the bus.

‘What’s happened?’ Naomi asked.

‘Derek’s come home on leave,’ Shirley said.

This wasn’t news to Naomi. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know, you both come in the bar on Saturday.’

‘Yeah, but on Sunday we went down to London. Back to Kemble Street.’

Naomi looked at her in surprise. ‘Did you? And how did it look?’

‘Well, there ain’t nothing been done to our house. Looks just like it did before, ’cept that there’s weeds growing in the walls. Thing is, Derek says we ought to be repairing it before it gets worse. The bombing’s stopped now, so we could try and get it mended.’

‘Mended?’

‘Well, some repairs anyway. If we could get the roof fixed and board up the windows – you know, make the place water-tight – well, Derek says we could probably move back there.’

‘Move back?’ Naomi couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘Not now, not straight away, but after the war.’

‘That sounds a long way off,’ Naomi said.

‘I know, but when it does end everyone’s going to be looking for places to live, ain’t they? Means we’d have a head start. People are going to live in damaged houses to begin with, ain’t they?’

Naomi shrugged. She hadn’t ever thought that far ahead. She was happy enough as they were now. She had her job, working for Jenny, and Dan was working at the nearby RAF base.

When Dan had come to live there permanently, Jenny had given them two upstairs rooms as their home and they were comfortably settled. Would they, she wondered now, ever go back to Kemble Street? It had always been Dan’s home, but they didn’t own it and since the fire had made it uninhabitable, they had ceased to pay rent. All their possessions had been destroyed with it. Naomi was in no hurry to go back to face the wreck of what had once been her home. They’d started a new life, here in Suffolk. Nicholas, now two and a half, had made up for his early appearance in the world and was growing fast. He wasn’t threatened with death from the skies, he was fed, warm and cared for. Why should they change that?

‘So, who’s going to pay for all these repairs?’ she wondered.

‘Landlord’ll have to,’ said Shirley. ‘But listen, Naomi, this isn’t what I came to tell you.’

‘So, what is?’

‘While we was looking at the house, I saw someone going into yours.’

‘What?’ Naomi stared at her. ‘Who?’

‘Dunno who,’ replied Shirley, ‘just a bloke. He went inside but we didn’t see him come out.’

‘But what was he doing?’ demanded Naomi. ‘I mean, the whole place is burnt out, least, that’s what Dan says.’

‘Dunno what he was doing,’ returned Shirley, ‘just poking about, I expect. He may have come out again when we wasn’t looking. Before we left, Derek went over and looked in. He didn’t go inside, but he couldn’t see no one and no one answered when he called. Anyway,’ she went on, ‘Derek said I should come and tell you, case Dan wants to go and have a look-see.’

‘Thanks,’ Naomi said. ‘I’ll tell Dan when he gets in, but I don’t suppose we can do much. People must be poking about bomb sites all the time.’

When Dan got home that evening Naomi told him what Shirley had said. ‘Who d’you think it was?’ she wondered. ‘And what was he doing in our house?’

‘I don’t know,’ Dan said with a shrug, ‘but I bet there are people like him all over London.’

‘There isn’t anything of ours he could steal, is there?’ she asked. ‘I mean, you brought all that wasn’t burnt with you.’

‘I brought all I could carry,’ Dan said. ‘There was stuff left in the cellar, of course, but that weren’t worth nothing. You know, just that old mattress and them chairs. Not stuff I could bring with me, but not worth stealing, neither.’

‘Did you lock the cellar door?’

‘Couldn’t lock it, it was off its hinges.’

‘So anyone could get in there.’

‘Well, suppose they could. I mean, well, I pushed the door back into place and wedged it. You could open it, but not easily. And why would you even go into the house, let alone try to go into the cellar?’

They had a quick supper and then Naomi went down to do her stint in the bar. Sometimes Dan went down too, to sit in the snug by the fire, but tonight he stayed upstairs. He thought over what Naomi had told him. It did seem odd that someone would go into the burnt-out house and stay there. Of course Derek and Shirley might have missed whoever it was coming out again, but even so, Dan didn’t like the idea of someone poking about his home, even if it was a ruin.

He was in bed by the time Naomi had finished closing up downstairs. He heard her go over and look at Nicholas asleep in his cot before she slipped in beside him.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said as she snuggled close, ‘I think I’ll go down on Sunday.’

‘Down?’ Naomi was tired and she sighed. ‘Down where?’

‘Down to London. To Kemble Street. Have a look around and see what’s what. It’s months since I was there. I ought to have a shufti.’

‘There won’t be anything to see,’ Naomi said. ‘That bloke’ll be long gone.’

‘P’raps,’ agreed Dan, ‘but I think I’ll go all the same.’

‘Well, I can’t come with you,’ Naomi said.

‘Know you can’t, love, but even so, I think I’ll go. I can have a look and then we can put it out of our minds.’ He smiled in the darkness and added, ‘I can have a look at the Newmans’, too, see if they really can do enough repairs to save it.’

Sunday afternoon saw Dan walking from the Hope Street bus stop into Kemble Street. He walked slowly along the road in which he’d lived all his life, looking at the houses, those with families still living there, those damaged beyond repair and the one or two, like the Newmans’, in between. All so familiar and yet bitterly unfamiliar.

There were people about, but no one paid any attention to him. When he reached number sixty-five he paused for a moment on the pavement, looking through the open doorway then, with sudden determination, he stepped across the threshold into the ruins of his home. A glance into the front room told him no one was there. The remains of the stairs in front of him led nowhere; no one would risk going up those. Softly he walked down the passage to the kitchen at the back. There were definitely footprints in the dirt, but they could have been there for months. The kitchen was just as he’d left it on that dreadful day after the fire... except for the door to the cellar. It was still wedged shut, but from the sweep marks in the dust on the floor it was clear that it had been opened, probably quite recently. He crossed the kitchen and looked hard at the door. He could see now that it had been pushed back into the doorway and a piece of rubble had been forced under it to fix it firmly in place. It’s what he’d done himself, except that he had used a piece of wood for the wedge, not a stone. Dan looked at it, considering, then he reached down and with several sharp kicks, he dislodged the stone with his boot and the door moved. He eased it open and peered down the steps. No one was there. He’d brought a torch with him and so, with great care, he made his way down into the cellar. Flashing the torch around he saw that the cellar had indeed been in use. The mattress was there with blankets piled on to it. The chairs were there and the small table, but on the table there was a Tilley lamp. They hadn’t had a Tilley lamp. That proved it. Someone was using their cellar. Dan looked round to see what else he could see. There was a bottle of water and a row of tinned food on the shelf. Dan was certain he hadn’t left any food there. He couldn’t remember if there had even been any. Biscuits perhaps? Certainly not tins. Where had they all come from? Too many to have been bought legally, he thought. He wished he had something he could put them in, so that he could take them with him. He didn’t know whose they were, nor where they’d come from, but they were in the cellar of his house and as far as he was concerned, that made them his. He picked up a couple of tins of salmon, the like of which he hadn’t seen for years, and slid them into his pocket. A treat for Naomi and the boy; at least he’d have something to show for his trip down to London.

He went back up to the kitchen and manoeuvred the cellar door back into place, kicking the piece of rubble underneath it to hold it firmly in place. With one last look round the kitchen he walked back through the house and out into the street. It was still daylight, though it wouldn’t be long before the dusk turned to twilight and darkness. He was walking back down the road to catch the bus to the station when he saw someone coming towards him. The man was walking slowly along the road, looking from left to right. A familiar figure and one he immediately recognised.

‘Albert?’ Dan called. ‘Is that you?’

Albert stopped and peered at him. ‘Dan Federman?’

‘Yes, it’s me. Just been down to look at the house. What’re you doing?’

‘Citizen patrol,’ Albert said. ‘Keeping an eye... you know.’ He glanced round him anxiously as if someone might be watching. ‘Keeping an eye...’

‘Good for you,’ Dan said. Dan knew Albert of old. Not the sharpest tool in the box, Dan’s dad would have said, but no harm in him, no harm at all. ‘Seen anything, have you?’

‘I see lot of things,’ Albert said, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Be ’mazed what I see.’

‘I’m sure I would,’ Dan said, about to move on. ‘Keep up the good work.’

‘Not the only one.’ Albert laid a hand on Dan’s arm as if to stop him going. ‘Bloke looking after your place, ain’t there?’

Dan turned and looked at him. ‘What bloke’s that?’ he said.

‘You know the one,’ Albert said. ‘The one you said could sleep there. Cellar-rat. That’s what he is. Cellar-rat. Lots of those about. He’s all right, your bloke, cos you told him to look after your house. I don’t have to bother with yours.’

‘What’s his name, this bloke?’

Albert screwed up his face, thinking. ‘Don’t know his name. Young feller, dark hair. You know his name, he knows yours. Said Dan Federman asked him to keep an eye... You do know his name.’ A note of doubt crept into the man’s voice and anxious to reassure him, Dan said, ‘Course I do, slipped my mind just for a moment. Thanks for letting me know, Albert.’

‘My job,’ Albert said importantly. ‘Citizen patrol. Keeping an eye... you know.’

Well, thought Dan as he made his way to the bus stop, someone is definitely using the cellar, but who? A young bloke with dark hair. Someone who knows I lived there, who knows me by name.

He couldn’t think of anyone. Probably a squatter who’d heard whose house it was and simply pretended to know him. Nothing he could do about it now, though, so he got the bus and headed back to Liverpool Street.

Back at the Feneton Arms, Dan told Naomi all he’d discovered. She listened with interest to what he’d found in the cellar and she was delighted with the two tins of salmon.

‘Oh, Dan!’ she exclaimed. ‘Tinned salmon. I haven’t seen that since my mother bought it special, when we was courting and you was coming for tea on a Sunday!’

‘Albert says he saw someone coming out of our house,’ Dan said. ‘Young bloke with dark hair who said he knew me.’

‘What about that bloke who turned up looking for Lisa that day? What was his name? The one what went fire-watching with you.’

‘Oh, I know who you mean,’ Dan said. ‘Yes, he had dark hair. Can’t remember his name though, can you?’

‘He was German, wasn’t he? Refugee like poor Lisa.’

‘That’s right. Said he’d come back next night, but he never did.’

‘He stayed the night,’ Naomi reminded him. ‘Slept in the cellar.’

‘You’re right,’ agreed Dan. ‘He did sleep in the cellar... so he’d know it’s there.’

‘Can’t think of his name.’

‘Well, it don’t matter,’ Dan pointed out. ‘We don’t know what happened to him.’

‘Whoever it is,’ Naomi said, ‘is in the black market. Stands to reason, all them tins you saw.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Course he is,’ Naomi said, ‘like every other Tom, Dick and Harry.’

‘Harry! Wasn’t that his name? Harry? Been at school with Lisa?’

‘Yeah, could be. Anyway, if it’s Lisa’s friend I don’t mind so much if he’s sleeping in our cellar, even if he is black market.’

‘Black market, short of two tins of salmon,’ grinned Dan.

‘Yes, well I’ll give one of those to Jen. She’ll enjoy a taste of salmon, too.’

‘Anyway,’ Dan said with a sigh. ‘Short of going there and sitting outside the house until he appears, there’s no way we’re going to catch him at it.’

Dan didn’t know how close he’d been to doing just that. Harry Black had been on his way to Kemble Street that very evening. He had been approaching from the far end of the road when he’d seen someone emerge from one of the houses. Was it number sixty-five? He ducked back behind a wall and watched as the man walked away down the street.

Who was it? Harry wondered, and what had he been doing?

He watched as the man stopped to speak to someone. Harry knew who that was. Citizen Patrol. Barmy, he was, old Citizen Patrol! Harry had seen him several times since their original encounter and had usually managed to avoid him. He wondered if the first man had indeed come out of the Federmans’ house. Could it have been Dan Federman? Were he and his wife hoping to come back to get the house repaired? Just the previous week Harry had seen the woman from opposite with her husband, looking over the house they’d lived in. London hadn’t been bombed for some time. Perhaps people were beginning to think about coming home. Harry hoped the Federmans weren’t. It was useful to have a place to keep his most private stuff. He’d moved to a room near the docks some time ago, registering his new address with the police, so there should be nothing to connect him with Kemble Street if ever anything did go wrong and his stash was discovered.

Citizen Albert continued his patrol and the man moved on. Harry scurried after him, following him not only to the bus stop, but on to Liverpool Street station, watching as he boarded the stopping train to Ipswich. Only once did he get close enough to see the man’s face. It was nearly two years since he’d seen Dan Federman, but Harry was pretty certain that’s who it was.

Having seen him on to the train, Harry headed straight back to Kemble Street and as the twilight began to deepen, he slipped into the dark doorway of sixty-five. Anxious not to show a light, he felt his way through to the cellar door. There he struck a match and by its flickering light saw at once that the door had indeed been opened. As the match burned down to his fingers, he dropped it on the floor and struck another. The door was still wedged, but the wedge was in an entirely different place to where he’d jammed it in. Quickly Harry released the door, jerked it open and stepped through. Once inside, he pulled it closed and, standing on the top step, struck a third match to light his way down the stairs. With the Tilley lamp lit, he inspected the cellar carefully. He knew exactly what should be there and saw two tins of salmon were missing. Nothing else told him that someone had invaded his domain. His stash of cash was still in the space he’d hollowed out under the stairs and he took it out and counted it. Perhaps, he thought as he looked at the roll of notes, it would be better to keep it somewhere else. If Dan Federman decided to go to the police with what he’d discovered in the cellar, they might come and search. It’d be bad enough to lose his goods, but he couldn’t risk losing his money as well. He’d have to find another hiding place, but for the moment he stowed it in an inside trouser pocket.

He’d seen Dan on to the train, so he knew that the police were not on their way just yet, but he decided to take a few of the more portable things with him in case they came to search. After all, tins of food could been left here by anyone, even the Federmans themselves. He turned the mattress over and slid his hand inside the ticking to retrieve a small box containing two brooches and a ring, all of which he’d liberated from a second-floor bedroom on a bomb site. He hadn’t shown them to Mikey yet, indeed, he hadn’t decided who to go to, Mikey or Mr Ing. Neither knew about the other; Harry liked to keep his options open. He looked at the jewellery in the box and reckoned they would certainly fetch a bob or two.

He pocketed the box and turning off the light, made his way back up into the kitchen. Pale moonlight filtered through the window and Harry secured the door again, this time placing the wedge where the intruder had, in case he returned and realised Harry had been back. He waited in the darkness of the doorway, watching the street until he was certain that there was no one to see him leave, then he stepped outside and melted into the night. He wouldn’t come back here for several weeks, he decided, not until he was positive that no one was taking any further interest in the house.

In the meantime, he thought, next weekend I’ll go back to Livingston Road and find Lisa. Maybe take her to the flicks.

As when he’d first met her, back in 1939, he was captivated by her. There was something about her that drew him to her and stayed with him even when she wasn’t there. He’d relegated her to the back of his mind when he thought she was dead – the dead were the dead – but now that he’d found her again, she had crept her way back into his head, slipping into his thoughts when he least expected it.

When he’d found her in the kitchen in Kemble Street and realised who she was, Harry had been shocked at his own reaction. He had watched her face as they had talked in the Hope Street café, seen the tension and the sadness there, but had also seen how she had changed. No longer was she a small, defiant school girl, in gymslip and blouse, with her hair scraped back off her face, fighting against the bullies. She had blossomed into an attractive young woman, her glossy hair framing a heart-shaped face, her mouth full-lipped and generous, her eyes bright and intelligent. When she’d walked beside him he’d been aware of the movement of her body, no longer awkward and a little ungainly, but smooth and agile with an unconscious sway of the hips. The boy, Harry, had been captivated by the girl, Lisa; the young man, Harry, was captivated anew by the young woman, Lisa.

Harry wasn’t new to the charms of women. Since his release from the Isle of Man he’d tasted a few. One old pro had taken him in hand as a favour to Mikey and taught him the pleasures of her trade. He knew women found him attractive and he liked what they did to him, the way they made him feel. But they were simply there for his pleasure; when he finished with them, he never gave them another thought.

Now Lisa kept invading his thoughts and he wasn’t at all sure he liked it. He liked to be in control of himself, his mind and his body, and Lisa was threatening them both. He hadn’t returned to Livingston Road for a couple of weeks, simply to prove to himself that he didn’t need to. She was just another woman, albeit an attractive one, but grown men, like him, didn’t get themselves tied up in knots by a woman.

Despite these good intentions, the following weekend found Harry knocking on the door of the Livingston Road home. It wasn’t Charlotte who opened the door, but a woman Harry had never seen before. She greeted him with a polite smile and said, ‘Can I help you?’

‘Come to see Lisa,’ Harry said. ‘Is she in?’

‘Lisa?’ The woman looked confused. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t got a Lisa here.’

‘But she works here,’ Harry said. And then he remembered. ‘Sorry, I forgot. She’s called Charlotte now.’

The woman’s expression cleared. ‘Charlotte. Yes, of course. If you’d like to wait here, I’ll see if she’s about.’

Harry stood in the hall, waiting. He could hear children’s voices from somewhere deeper in the house, the slam of a door and a shout of laughter. It was Saturday afternoon and the children who lived in the home weren’t at school. Perhaps Lisa wouldn’t be able to come out after all. Harry was about to turn round and leave when Miss Morrison appeared.

‘Hallo,’ she said. ‘I understand you’re looking for Charlotte.’ Then she recognised him and went on, ‘It’s Harry, isn’t it? Charlotte’s friend, Harry? We met before. I’m Caroline Morrison, superintendent of the home.’

‘Yes, miss, I remember,’ Harry said. He gave her a broad smile. He’d learned that women of a certain age liked his smile.

‘Have you come to see Charlotte? Is she expecting you?’

‘No, miss. I mean, yes, I’ve come to see her, but she isn’t expecting me.’

‘I think she’s in the garden with some of the younger children. Do you want to go on out and find her? I’ll show you the way.’

She led the way through the house and out of a side door into the back garden. Harry paused on the doorstep and looked out across the grass to where Lisa was playing ball with some little girls. She was dressed in a simple yellow skirt and white blouse and her hair was tied back with a piece of yellow ribbon. She was laughing as she ran to catch the ball and for a moment Harry simply stared at her, knowing in that moment that he wanted her, wanted her in every way.

Caroline, looking back, caught a glimpse of his face and knew a moment’s apprehension. But she brushed it aside, she was just being stupid... overprotective.

‘Charlotte,’ she called, and Charlotte, turning, saw Harry standing in the doorway. Her breath caught in her throat and then she tossed the ball to the waiting children and ran over to greet him.

‘Harry,’ she cried. ‘I thought you’d forgotten me.’

‘Never, Lisa,’ he said. Then turning to Caroline Morrison he asked, ‘Is Lisa free to meet me later this evening? I can see she’s busy now.’

‘Of course,’ Caroline replied. ‘Once the children have had their tea, she can certainly go out for the evening if she’d like to. Shall we say about seven? I can manage without her after that.’

Charlotte stood looking from one to the other. What about asking me? she thought.

As if reading her thoughts, Harry asked, ‘Will you come, Lisa?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered, ‘I’d like to.’

‘I’ll be here at seven, then,’ he said. He smiled at Caroline again, thinking, Better keep her sweet, then turning he walked back through the house and out of the front door. Caroline and Charlotte watched him go, but their thoughts as they did so were entirely different.

Charlotte was thinking, He did come back to see me. He kept his promise.

Caroline was thinking, The more you smile at me, Harry, the less I trust you.

Good as his word, Harry was at the door promptly at seven o’clock. When he rang the bell the door opened immediately and Charlotte came out. She had changed into the green daisy skirt and white blouse she had worn to the midsummer dance and carried a little white clutch bag lent to her by Caroline.

‘Don’t be too late,’ Caroline had warned. ‘You know it’ll be an early start in the morning.’ She had given Charlotte a key, but she decided to wait up for her. She wanted to be sure she was safely home.

Harry reached out and took Charlotte’s hand. ‘Where would you like to go?’ he asked.

‘I don’t mind,’ Charlotte replied. ‘It’s just nice to get out for a change.’

‘I thought we could go to the flicks,’ Harry said. ‘P’raps get a bite to eat first. Maybe go dancing after?’

Charlotte looked at him suspiciously. ‘Have you got the money, Harry?’ she asked. ‘I’m not going to duck on and off buses any more.’

‘Course I have.’ Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out two pound notes.

‘Harry! Where did you get all that?’

‘Earned it,’ Harry said. ‘Told you, I work down the docks now.’

‘But so much money!’

‘Nothing to spend it on till you came along. Come on, Lisa! Let’s have a night on the town.’

‘I can’t be late,’ Charlotte said. ‘I promised Miss Morrison.’

‘Bit of a dragon, is she?’

‘No, not at all.’ Charlotte spoke sharply. ‘She’s been very kind to me, and I promised.’

‘All right, all right.’ Harry held up his hands in surrender. ‘I don’t mind where we go.’ Still holding hands, they walked along the street and found a café. After a fish and chip supper they went into the Odeon and Harry led her to the back row of the stalls. Charlotte had never been to the cinema before. There had been no money for such extravagance while she was living in Kemble Street and no opportunity since. They settled into their seats and watched a cartoon before the main picture, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby in The Road to Zanzibar. As soon as the lights went down for the main film, Harry’s arm stole round Charlotte’s shoulders. At first she stiffened, but as he simply held her gently she gradually relaxed. This was Harry, after all. As the film continued he took her hand in his, gently kneading her other shoulder. She felt a quiver run through her and Harry felt it too. Without haste he gently slid his hand under her arm, so that his fingers rested on her breast. Charlotte felt a burst of heat flood through her and she turned a little towards him. It was all the encouragement he needed. He let go of her hand and, reaching over, turned her face to his. Gently at first he began to kiss her face, his lips roaming over her skin until it seemed on fire. He could feel her warmth and rising excitement and moved his mouth over hers. His lips were demanding, his tongue pushing between her lips. For a moment Charlotte thought of Billy, dear gentle Billy. She thought she’d been kissed before, but his kisses hadn’t aroused the response she felt to Harry’s. Billy was a boy, Harry was very much a man. Kissing her long and deep, his hands continued their exploration until his fingers began to caress her thighs through the light cotton of her skirt. Suddenly, she broke free and pushed him away.

‘What’s the matter, Lisa, doll?’ he whispered. ‘Doesn’t it feel good? Don’t you like it?’

Charlotte didn’t answer. She turned away from him and stared at the screen where Bing Crosby was singing ‘It’s Always You’ to Dorothy Lamour.

‘Come on, doll,’ Harry murmured. ‘It’s only a kiss and a cuddle.’ He reached for her hand again and stroked her palm with his thumb. ‘Only a kiss, because you’re so beautiful and I thought I’d lost you.’

Charlotte left her hand in his, but when he slipped his arm back round her shoulders again, she pulled away with a muttered, ‘No, Harry!’

Harry sighed and removed his arm. He knew he was going too fast for her, but somehow he couldn’t help himself. He’d felt her reaction to his touch and he was aching to go further.

When at last the film finished and the lights went up again, Charlotte looked along the back row and realised that it was all couples, and they’d been making use of the darkness in the same way. The National Anthem sounded through the cinema and everyone stood up. Charlotte stood straight and still; Harry, though on his feet, slouched against the back of the seat in front.

‘Harry,’ she hissed. ‘It’s the National Anthem.’

‘Not mine, it isn’t,’ he hissed back.

They walked out into the night. The darkness was complete and Harry produced a tiny pocket torch to light their way to the bus stop.

‘Where shall we go now?’ he asked.

‘I’ve got to get back,’ Charlotte said. ‘I told you I couldn’t be late.’

Harry sighed. ‘All right, doll. But we’ll do it again... next Saturday evening? I know a place we can go dancing. You like dancing?’

‘Yes,’ Charlotte said. ‘Very much.’

‘Good. Then I’ll come next Saturday. Same time. You tell that Morrison lady you’re going out again. She can’t stop you, can she?’

‘No,’ Charlotte agreed, ‘not if I’m not needed in the home.’

Before he left her outside the home, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close, so that she felt the strength of his body against the softness of her own. For a moment she clung to him, before he gently put her away from him.

‘In you go,’ he said. ‘See you next Saturday.’

‘Did you have a nice evening?’ Caroline asked as Charlotte came in through the front door for her. ‘What did you do?’

‘We had fish and chips and then went to the cinema.’

‘Sounds fun. What did you see?’

‘The Road to Zanzibar.’

‘Did you? I haven’t seen that one yet, but I enjoyed The Road to Singapore.’

Charlotte said goodnight and went up to her room under the eaves. As she lay in bed, she relived her evening with Harry, and it was a long time before she fell asleep.