The dreadful news she’d read in the paper had had a profound impact on Audrey. From the moment she woke up before dawn, to the moment she fell asleep just before midnight, all she could think about was the children who had unwittingly gone to their deaths before they’d barely begun their lives. Though others would argue that children had no choice but to grow up quickly in wartime and should face the horror, she felt as though she had to do everything in her power to protect the younger generation’s innocence and try to give them a sense of normality, showing them love and kindness rather than blinding them with stories of blood and violence. She couldn’t do anything for those poor little children who had already gone to their deaths, but for the children she cared for, simple, peaceful things like a game of marbles, a stroll by the sea, a gentle story at bedtime and a slice of a freshly baked cake became more important.

‘What’ll I put in this cake?’ she said to herself, at the end of a busy working day at the bakery. They’d sold out of bread and counter goods early, so she’d had time to check the next day’s orders before finding the time to quickly bake a cake, then pop it to Pat’s when she collected the twins, who had been with Pat and Betty for the afternoon. Hopefully, it would make a nice teatime treat for them all before they had the deep purple beetroot soup, currently simmering on top of the range, for their dinner.

Opening the cupboards and checking through the ingredients, she sighed. Conventional celebration cakes were something of a rarity these days – due to shipping losses, consignments of dried fruit hadn’t come through for weeks, icing sugar was banned and the sugar ration at an all-time low. Though she had a certain quantity of ingredients permitted for counter goods in the bakery, home baking was a different story, and she would have to be creative.

‘Apples, carrots and honey,’ she said to herself, holding a bowl of carrots in her hands. ‘I’m sure I can do something tasty with this.’

Taking down a mixing bowl from the dresser, she placed it on the table and arranged the ingredients around it. She created an apple cake using dried egg, sweetened with carrots and honey and flavoured with cinnamon and cloves.

Waiting for the cake to bake, Audrey took off her apron and used the time to write a letter to Charlie. She wanted her letters to bring him joy, so she described as best she could the smell of the strawberries and the pink stains on the children’s faces, and the most delightful moment when Emily and Donald had smiled tiny lopsided smiles for the first time. She finished off the letter by making him a promise to get a photograph taken of the twins, so she could send it to him to keep in his breast pocket, close to his heart. Writing to Charlie made her miss him dreadfully and, with eyes blurry with tears, she put down her pen. Wondering when she could find a minute to take the letter to the post office, she quickly turned her attention to the cake, and pulled it from the oven just in time. ‘Concentrate, Audrey!’ she scolded herself, inspecting the crust, which was moments away from burning. ‘Goodness me! Where’s my head?’

Placing the cake on a wire cooling rack, she pressed her fingers to her forehead, where a headache was gathering momentum. She sighed. Her head was in a hundred different places – no wonder it sometimes ached.

With the delicious aroma of apple cake wafting through the bakery, William walked to the bedroom doorway to find Elsie sitting at the small writing desk under the window. The late sun fell through the window onto the crown of Elsie’s black hair, making it shine like molten tar. When she turned to face him, William was taken aback by how tired she looked – she had grey bags under her eyes and her ordinarily cherry-pink cheeks were pale. Her arms, which were uncovered as she was still in her slip, had grown thinner. Concern rose within him. Had he been too self-obsessed to notice his wife was suffering? She worked such long hours on the buses, or else was helping in the bakery or at home with Violet and her sisters – did she ever get time to rest? Had his nightmares kept her from sleep? He shuddered with guilt.

‘What are you working on, Elsie?’ he said, coming into the room and resting his hands on the back of her chair. He lifted her hair, which was fantastically thick and soft, and let it fall through his fingers. It was the first time he’d touched her hair for ages and she straightened her back in surprise at the contact. She smiled at him, colour rising in her cheeks.

‘I’m writing letters to help free my father,’ she said. ‘Since Churchill said “Collar the lot” and all those innocent people were interned, there’s been an outcry. Now, thousands of internees have been freed, but my father is still not at liberty. Mother and I are writing to whoever we can think of to campaign for his release too. He’s not even considered a high security risk, so I don’t understand why he’s still being held. In his last letter he said he was working in glove-making in the camp, so he’s just being used as free labour! I’m finding people to vouch for his character and think it’s probably a bureaucratic process or a tribunal we have to go through, but I want to hurry it along and get him home again.’

William nodded, feeling horribly aware of how little attention he’d paid to Elsie’s family. He realised he must do more to support her, like a decent husband would.

‘You’re amazing,’ he said, leaning to kiss the top of her head. She turned her face up to his and the atmosphere between them was charged. He had just leaned in to kiss her lips when there was a sharp knock on the bedroom door.

‘Elsie? William? Are you in there?’ said Audrey. ‘Could one of you run an errand for me, please?’

‘Coming!’ said William, smiling at Elsie, then using his crutches to walk to the door. He opened it to Audrey.

‘I’d forgotten I promised to pop up to the Norfolk Hotel because they want to increase their bread order,’ she said. ‘But I’m also supposed to be taking a cake round to Pat’s house for tea and to collect the twins. I was wondering if either of you could take the cake for me and if I can get there later I will, otherwise could you bring the twins home for me?’

William looked over at Elsie, but she stretched her mouth into an upside-down, apologetic smile.

‘Sorry, Audrey,’ she said, ‘but my shift on the buses starts in twenty minutes.’

‘I’ll go,’ said William. ‘It’s only round the corner and I can get there and back before I’m due in the bakehouse again.’

Audrey looked incredibly relieved and quickly hugged William in thanks.

‘The cake is on the kitchen table,’ she said and dashed back down the stairs; from the bottom she called up: ‘Make sure you have a slice yourself. Thank you again, I won’t be late!’

---

William walked, with the aid of his crutches, to Pat’s road, which was just five minutes away from the bakery. As he moved up Fisherman’s Road, he waved to, or greeted, the various shopkeepers closing up for the day, carrying on their businesses despite the difficult wartime conditions. With bombproof tape on their windows, sandbags protecting the shop entrances and strategically placed stirrup pumps, war was evident everywhere – not least in his missing foot and scarred face, thought William, catching sight of his reflection in a window.

‘Blasted war,’ he muttered, wishing for a hasty conclusion. On reaching one end of Pat’s road, he looked further up the street for her house, number 30, which he easily identified as it had a beautiful cherry tree in blossom right outside the front window. Deciding to take a slight shortcut and approach the house from the back door, he walked down the alleyway that ran along the backs of the houses. Suddenly he became aware of the smell of smoke. He was puzzled: bonfires were now banned. Not knowing where it was coming from, he used his crutches to help him stand on tiptoe and see over the garden fences. He registered in shock that the smoke was coming from Pat’s kitchen window and moved as quickly as he could to her house. Pushing through the garden gate and flying up the garden path to the back door, he was greeted by thick smoke billowing from the window. His heart hammered in his chest and he thought of the children inside. Rattling the back door, which was locked, he called out to Pat and Betty.

‘Pat!’ he yelled, pulling his coat over his mouth. ‘Where are you? Betty! Children!’

From inside the kitchen he could hear the terrified cries of several children – and the faint sound of Betty’s panicked voice shouting instructions to Cyril, telling him to unlock the door. Trying to work out what had happened and what best to do, William leaned on his good leg and used his crutch to smash the glass of the locked kitchen door. Pushing his arm through, he fumbled through the smoke to reach the key in the door, which he unlocked, letting the door swing open. He was immediately forced back by flames leaping from the floor and curtains. He was temporarily paralysed by a flashback to the flames that had devoured the truck he’d driven in France when it was hit by a bomb, killing all the passengers. He took a deep breath, then, covering his mouth, peered through the smoke to see the group of children huddled together around the pram bassinet in which Emily and Donald were lying. Then he noticed that there was a person collapsed on the floor – Pat!

‘Hang on, children,’ he said, turning back and searching the garden for something to use to extinguish the fire. Thank goodness for Pat being prepared in case of incendiary bombs – there were several buckets of sand lined up outside. In many streets housewives had emptied the buckets and used them for spring-cleaning, but thankfully Pat had done the right thing.

Hurling the buckets of sand onto the flames, William wrapped his jacket round himself and charged into the kitchen. He scooped up the crying babies in both arms, gathered the children and took them to safety in the garden, before half-carrying, half-dragging Pat, who was murmuring incoherently, out as well and putting her into the recovery position on her side.

Running back inside through billowing grey smoke, he called out to Betty, who he could hear hammering on the other side of the kitchen door. Turning the key in the lock, he flung it open to find Betty in a hysterical state. Throwing her arms around William, she burst into tears, sobbing while he led her outside to safety too.

A neighbour was there. ‘I’ve sent a message to call for an ambulance for Pat,’ she said. She had covered Pat with a blanket. ‘Are the rest of you all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes, yes, I think so,’ William said, turning to Betty, who fell down onto the grass. ‘What happened, Betty?’

‘It was my fault,’ said Cyril, his huge eyes brimming with tears. ‘I locked the doors. I thought, when there was a fire, you were supposed to keep windows and doors closed, in case the flames got out.’

‘But not when you’re inside!’ William said, but quickly softened his tone. ‘Don’t worry, little man, it’s not your fault. You were only trying to help. It’s not easy to get things right when you’re in a panic. I know that better than anyone.’

Cyril gave William a sad little smile and William ruffled his hair.

‘Pat was stoking the fire so we could toast some teacakes and she had a faint,’ the boy explained. ‘She knocked the guard over and some of the fire fell onto the rug and it started to burn, so fast, and then the flames caught onto the curtains.’

‘I was in the other room,’ said Betty. ‘When I smelled fire and heard the children crying out I went to help, but the door was locked. I didn’t know what to do. Thank heavens for you, William.’

By now, the ambulance and fire officer had arrived to put out the fire and a first aider was giving Pat medical attention. Though she was woozy and complained of pains in her chest, she was able to hobble to the ambulance to be taken to hospital for a check-up. After she had gone, William and Betty checked over all of the children to make sure they hadn’t inhaled too much smoke but, out in the fresh air now, they seemed well.

‘What’s going on?’ said Audrey, who had appeared at the garden gate, her face stricken with panic. ‘Has there been a fire? Where’s Pat?’

Rushing over to the children, she threw her arms round them and then checked the twins, who were happily cooing. When Betty explained what had happened, Audrey’s jaw dropped in horror.

‘Gracious me, what a shock for you all,’ she said. ‘William, thank goodness for you!’

‘That’s what I said,’ said Betty. ‘If it wasn’t for William I dread to think what might have happened. He caught it just in time. He’s a hero.’

‘I’m no hero,’ said William, paling as the enormity of the situation began to sink in. What if he’d walked the other way? Would he have made it in time?

‘Yes, you are,’ said Audrey, ‘and I won’t hear otherwise. Come on, everyone, let’s get you back to the bakery, get you cleaned up and give you a slice of cake. I’ll come back later to sort out Pat’s house. She won’t want to arrive home to singed curtains and black walls.’

‘I’ll help too,’ said Betty. ‘It’s the least I can do. I should have made sure she was feeling well when I noticed she was getting tired. I hope she’ll be all right.’

‘That I’m sure of,’ said Audrey. ‘My mother-in-law is a strong woman. She always puts up a good fight, whatever life throws at her.’