Pat was discharged from hospital two days later, diagnosed with low blood pressure. Betty was one of the first to visit her at home, bringing her a small bunch of wild flowers picked from the clifftop. When she arrived, Pat was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea.

‘Looks better in here,’ said Betty, admiring the work Audrey and Uncle John had done at lightning speed. Audrey had replaced the curtains and Uncle John had given the smoke-damaged walls a lick of paint and opened all the windows to air the rooms.

‘Bless them,’ Pat said. ‘I don’t often say this about my brother, but he’s a good egg. He always looked out for me when we were children and nothing has changed.’

Betty filled a small vase with water and placed the flowers in it before joining Pat at the table.

‘So how are you feeling?’ she said. ‘Did the hospital give you anything?’

‘Look at these,’ said Pat, lifting the hem of her skirt to show Betty the sturdy knee-high compression stockings given to her by the hospital, along with a tonic to take daily. ‘Aren’t they dreadful? It’s a good job that my husband is a long time dead! They’re to avoid me having a pulmonary embolism, would you believe. Apparently, they’re being given out to some older folk now as people have died after sitting for too long in air raid shelters!’

Betty grinned at Pat. She was a remarkable woman. She never showed any weakness and kept a stiff upper lip, forging on with energy and determination.

‘I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting all the children in the house again any time soon,’ said Betty as Pat poured her a cup of tea.

‘What?’ replied Pat, outraged. ‘Codswallop! Of course I do. I’ll be right as rain in no time at all. While I’m recuperating, I can read to the children and tell them stories. I might need some naps, when they have their naps, and in time perhaps we can get someone else involved for a few hours during the day. I know a lovely girl who helps with the WVS. She’s got a little one too. Come on, Betty, where’s your determination? Let’s not fall at the first hurdle! You need some help with Robert’s children too. You can’t shoulder that all on your own.’

Betty shrugged and sighed. There was still no sign of Robert, and no word from him. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

‘I admire you for looking after his kiddies and I can see you’re attached to them and them to you,’ said Pat, ‘but what will you do if he comes back?’

Betty had no idea what she’d do. Though she endlessly played the scenario through in her mind, she didn’t know how she’d react if it happened for real.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, staring out of the kitchen window at the bright flowers growing in Pat’s garden. ‘It’s not something I can plan for. Part of me thinks he’s not fit to take care of them, but another part thinks he loves his kids and I fear that the reason he hasn’t come back is because something must have happened to him. Whatever the truth is, those children need someone. In my mind they’re orphans, just like I was when I was a child. I went into an orphanage in Bristol when I was three and it was a cold, unloving place. I couldn’t do that to them.’

Pat gently placed her hand over Betty’s and patted it.

‘You’re a good girl,’ she said, ‘with a kind heart, and I’m glad to know you.’

Betty looked up from her tea and smiled, warmth and gratitude filling her heart. Getting up to put the cups in the sink, she remembered what she had in her bag. Pulling out the Bournemouth Echo newspaper, she turned to the right page and placed it on the kitchen table in front of Pat, smoothing down the pages with her hand.

‘Pass me the magnifying glass, will you?’ Pat said, pointing at the dresser. ‘It’s in the drawer.’

Betty opened the drawer and saw the magnifying glass on top of a bundle of photographs. On quick inspection, she realised they were of Audrey and Charlie’s wedding – with both bride and groom looking elated, about to cut an intricately iced cake, no doubt made by Audrey herself. Gently closing the drawer, she handed Pat the glass. Standing over the other woman’s shoulder to reread the article, she smiled as Pat tutted and exclaimed, the words and image magnified by her glass.

‘Whatever next?’ Pat said, turning to Betty and raising her eyebrows spectacularly high. ‘This is one for the family album.’

Uncle John handed Elsie the newspaper article that he had cut out.

‘Get that framed,’ he told her, ‘and hang it above your bed, so William is reminded of the good man he is.’

Elsie smiled. Taking the newspaper clipping, she scanned the words and images. Under the headline ‘Hero rescues women and children from burning building!’ the article went on to describe William’s heroic act, as witnessed by Pat’s neighbour, who was heavily quoted throughout the piece. Pat, described as a ‘forthright woman with high standards’, was reported as collapsing in the kitchen with an undiagnosed health problem, while six children aged five and under almost perished in the fire.

‘Brave wounded soldier Private William Allen, discharged from active service after having his right foot amputated, acted heroically when he broke into the burning building, battling flames to rescue the women and children,’ Elsie said and grinned at John, who was nodding in agreement. Next to the article was a photograph of William in his military uniform – they must have requested it from his regiment.

‘What’s this?’ said William, coming into the bakehouse to start work mixing the dough.

‘It’s about you being a hero,’ said Elsie, handing him the clipping. While William scanned the words, John busied himself with going up into the flour loft to shift the sacks of flour. Lost in a cloud of flour dust, he didn’t see William’s eyes glass over.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ he said, quietly. ‘I’m not a hero, Elsie, I just love all those kiddies and the babies. My niece and nephew were in there. I had to get them all out – anyone would have done the same thing.’

‘They wouldn’t,’ said Elsie. ‘You were a brave man. You deserve this praise.’

‘I didn’t do it for the praise,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves, preparing to work.

‘I know,’ Elsie said. ‘You did it for the children, which is why I’ve been thinking about what you said a few weeks ago, about us having one of our own.’

Instantly, William stopped what he was doing and looked up at Elsie with hope in his eyes.

‘What are you saying?’ he said. ‘I thought this wasn’t the time.’

Elsie shrugged and smiled at him.

‘When is the right time?’ she said. ‘There’s nothing stopping us trying, at any rate.’

Leaning against the bakery table, he hugged Elsie and lifted her up off the floor, squeezing her in a tight embrace. In a fit of giggles their lips met and their long kiss was only interrupted by a cough from Uncle John, who, back down from the flour loft, looked embarrassed.

‘Don’t mind me,’ he mumbled, making to leave the bakehouse, but William laughed and put Elsie back down on the floor.

‘Come on, John,’ William said, grinning. ‘We better get this dough mixed and the ovens fired up before Elsie here gets me too distracted.’

Picking up an empty hessian sack, William gently whipped Elsie’s bottom with the soft fabric, making her laugh. She picked up a handful of loose flour and threw it over William’s head, giving his hair a pale coating.

‘You young things!’ said Uncle John, shaking his head in mock despair. ‘I don’t know.’