‘Shhh,’ said Betty, holding her finger to her lips to silence Cyril, Vera and Dora. ‘You have to be really, really quiet, like mice who live in a library. Baby Donald is not well and Charlie, the master baker who owns this bakery, is home on leave. The last thing he’ll want is noisy children he doesn’t even know under his feet. Do you understand me?’

Cyril and Vera nodded, while Dora just blinked and carried on sucking her thumb in Betty’s arms. Poor little mites. Since Robert had disappeared, Betty had been taking care of the children at the bakery and they’d had no choice but to accept her as a temporary parent. Betty had barely seen Audrey, who was busy tending to Donald, and felt constantly guilty for her presence in her home. She kept thinking that she should find somewhere else to go but was at a loss to know where. If she returned to Bristol, there was no guarantee that Robert would be there and anyway, with their home bombed out, where would she live? She had no money to pay for a rented room anywhere and she couldn’t go to the Assistance Board to ask for help because the children weren’t her own – and if she reported Robert for abandoning them, she knew he’d just get into deeper trouble. Despite everything he’d done to disappoint her, she didn’t want to completely ruin his life.

‘How is Donald?’ she asked Pat, who was in the kitchen preparing a sandwich. ‘I feel like we’re all under Audrey and Charlie’s feet here, but I don’t know where else to go.’

Pat turned to face Betty with red eyes. Obviously, she’d been crying and Betty felt guilty for bothering her.

‘Are we going back home?’ asked Cyril meekly. ‘I like it here.’

Betty and Pat exchanged glances while Cyril opened his eyes wide in anticipation of the answer. Betty gently patted him on the head.

‘We’re not going anywhere today,’ said Betty. ‘Is Donald worse?’

‘I think he will be okay,’ said Pat, swiping creamed margarine on the bread in a hurry, ‘and you mustn’t worry. You’re doing a good turn by Robert, looking after his kiddies, we all know that. Audrey would never see you without a roof over your head, but what with Donald having whooping cough, you need to be careful these three don’t catch it. Actually…’

Pat paused from spreading margarine and lifted the knife in the air while she thought something through.

‘I have an idea,’ she said finally, returning to the bread. ‘I’ve been putting up some land girls but they’re moving on in a week. Why don’t you and the children move in with me, to free up some space here at the bakery?’

Betty didn’t reply immediately, quite stunned at the Barton family’s kindness, which seemed to run through their veins in place of blood. She’d once peeked inside Pat’s house when running an errand for Audrey and it was the most lovely, homely home – though, she thought, as a vision of the grandfather clock, collection of antique walking sticks, vases and a cabinet filled with trinkets flashed into her mind, it wasn’t exactly a house for little children.

‘You won’t have to pay me, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ said Pat, putting the sandwiches on a plate and moving towards the door. ‘You can earn your keep helping with the chores.’

‘Oh of course, I would definitely help,’ said Betty. ‘No, I was thinking more of all the precious things a lady like you might own and whether these three might accidentally damage something.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ said Pat. ‘I’d rather see you all comfortable than protect a vase from breaking. Besides, if Hitler and his cronies invade, no doubt they’ll take anything valuable from us straight away. Just look at what happened to the folk in Jersey. The Germans ransacked the place!’

‘Do you think they will invade, like in Jersey?’ said Cyril, his eyes wide circles.

Betty opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment, Lily entered the kitchen, with Joy squirming and fidgeting in her arms.

‘She’s hungry,’ said Lily, placing Joy on the floor and putting her hands on her hips. ‘I haven’t had a moment to sort out dinner and I wanted to run this letter to Jacques to the post office before I change my mind. How is little Donald doing?’

‘Slightly better, I hope,’ said Pat. ‘His temperature has dropped a little.’

‘I can help with Joy,’ said Betty. ‘I can do a cold tea for all the children, can’t I? With Fry’s cocoa afterwards.’

Four faces turned towards Betty, their hopeful eyes shining with happiness at the thought of tea. Dora, still in Betty’s arms, pushed her cheek against her shoulder and Cyril slipped his hand in Betty’s.

‘Oh, thank you, Betty,’ said Lily. ‘You have a touch of a mother hen, you know.’

With the plate of sandwiches for Audrey and Charlie in one hand and the other on the kitchen doorknob, Pat suddenly spun round on her heels.

‘I’ve just had the most brilliant idea—’ she said, but before she could speak another word, the siren sounded its horrible, dreadful wail.

---

There wasn’t room for everyone in the Anderson shelter, so while Uncle John and William bravely remained in the bakehouse tending the ovens, so tomorrow’s bread would be baked in time, Audrey saw to it that Pat took baby Emily, Lily, Betty, Mary, Joy and the three Mitchell children into the shelter.

‘Be safe,’ she called, handing Pat Emily’s milk bottle, as anti-aircraft guns echoed in the air. Anxiously, she watched the line of women and children walk out into the garden, gas masks over their arms, pushing through the overalls still hanging on the washing line, and into the shelter door. Imagining them all trying to fit into the small space, with just a flickering candle for warmth and light, she hoped that Emily didn’t wake up crying, wondering where she was. Less than a month old and having to hide underground from bombers – how could this be happening? She could only hope that, having lived through the war, the little ones would grow up doing everything they could for peace.

‘They’ll never get any sleep tonight,’ she said to Charlie, helping him move the wardrobe in front of the bedroom window to protect against blast or bomb splinters. ‘I hope the All Clear will sound sooner rather than later.’

Cradling a sleeping Donald in his arms, Charlie perched on the edge of the bed and Audrey sat down next to him. Anti-aircraft guns were firing in the distance, and they heard the sound of a bomb exploding and looked at each other in fear.

‘Didn’t sound too far away, did it?’ whispered Audrey. ‘Oh Charlie, do you think Donald is through the worst?’

Charlie nodded, staring down at his son.

‘I hope so, love,’ he said. ‘His breathing seems a bit better. What will you do about Emily? She’ll miss her twin if they have to be kept separate.’

‘Doctor says he won’t be contagious for long,’ Audrey said, ‘so they’ll be back together soon enough.’

She gazed at Charlie, burning to tell him how much she was going to miss him when he returned to active service and how she wished they’d become parents in peacetime, so that he could know his children as babies. But, though she longed to spill out all her fears and concerns, she knew it was unfair and unhelpful. This part of his life, at home, was Charlie’s respite. These precious memories would have to see him through the next few months – or years – of combat. She would keep her thoughts to herself.

‘What do you make of the National Loaf?’ she asked him. Charlie pulled a face.

‘Can’t deny that John and William are doing a good job,’ he said. ‘But I’d rather bake and eat a Coburg any day of the week.’

Audrey smiled.

‘The bakery is running all right,’ she said. ‘Some of the customers are late with their payments, but that’s nothing new, is it?’

‘No,’ Charlie said, shaking his head. ‘But don’t let it get out of hand.’

When he was at home, running the bakery, he’d clubbed together with other master bakers in Bournemouth to put an advert in the Echo asking customers to pay their accounts, or else the bakers couldn’t afford to buy the ingredients. It was a difficult one though – neither Charlie nor Audrey would ever see any of their customers go hungry.

‘I won’t,’ she said, not wanting to worry him with the books.

‘Will you write and tell me how the twins are doing?’ he said. ‘How they change each month, when they start talking and crawling and all that? Even if I don’t get the chance to reply? You know I’m not one for letter-writing.’

‘Course I will,’ Audrey replied, yawning. ‘I’ll write every detail about them and I’ll be sure to tell them everything about you too. Sorry, I’m barely able to keep my eyes open.’

Audrey felt an overwhelming need for sleep wash over her. She had snatched a half-hour here and there over the last few days, but now felt quite poorly with exhaustion.

‘You look done in. Why don’t you lie down for a while?’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll sit here with Donald. It’s quietened down outside, so with any luck the All Clear will soon sound.’

But Audrey didn’t want to lie down. She didn’t want to shut her eyes and miss out on the last hours of Charlie being home, or to risk sleeping through Donald taking another bad turn.

‘I’ll wake you if Donald gets bad again,’ said Charlie, reading her mind. ‘Go on, you’ll be no good to anyone if you’re starved of sleep.’

She didn’t need telling again. Leaning back on the bed, pulling a corner of the eiderdown over her and resting her head on the pillow, she held the image of Charlie and Donald in her mind’s eye as she closed her eyes. In seconds, she was in a deep sleep, where she dreamed of nothing and nobody.

---

Hours later, with sunlight sneaking in around the corners of the blackout blind, Audrey woke, startled and disorientated. Noises came from the shop downstairs, the voices of her regular customers and tinny music from the wireless filtering into the edges of her mind. Sitting upright, with her heart pounding in her chest, she saw that, instead of Charlie, Pat was sitting on the chair by the bed, cradling Donald in her arms, feeding him a bottle of milk. Looking down at herself, Audrey realised she was still wearing her apron from the previous evening. Blinking in confusion, she pushed her hair from her eyes and sat up.

‘Where’s Charlie?’ Audrey said, already knowing the answer.

‘He had to go,’ Pat said. ‘He didn’t want to wake you because you were so fast asleep. The air raid didn’t go on for long last night, though a bomb was dropped on the racecourse and all those allotments were destroyed. Nobody was injured, thank goodness. Donald seems to have improved. Do you want to get some more sleep?’

Audrey felt a myriad of emotions. Though she felt relieved that nobody had been hurt last night and that Donald was probably through the critical period of his whooping cough, she felt furious that Charlie had gone again without saying goodbye. But at least he’d met the babies – you had to be grateful for small mercies.

‘I can’t,’ she said, steeling herself. ‘I’ve got a bakery to run and two babies to look after, not to mention Betty, Robert’s three kiddies, William, Elsie, Mary and Joy and Uncle John.’

‘I’ve had an idea that might help,’ Pat said, looking pleased with herself. ‘I’ll explain it to you later, when you’re washed and dressed.’