August ended after fifty-six air raid sirens had sounded in Bournemouth, and September began. Blackberries, elderberries and rosehips ripened on the hedgerows and golden leaves fell from the trees. The hazy warm summer days became bright and crisp, and long evenings were spent inside with the wireless on, knitting gloves for the harsh winter that was predicted. The hard-working bakery life went on, with Audrey at the helm, juggling her new role as a mother of three with running Barton’s. Life wasn’t easy for anyone, but Elsie was dismayed to notice that Audrey’s usual optimism even in the most dire situations had dimmed. She had somehow withdrawn a little, rather as if she’d thrown a blanket over herself. The customers wouldn’t have noticed, but Elsie did. Knowing that Audrey rarely spoke about her personal feelings, Elsie left it for weeks before she reached out, but when she found Audrey in the kitchen one morning, rereading the brief letter she’d received from Charlie months before, she felt she couldn’t leave the subject alone any longer.

‘Audrey?’ Elsie said. ‘What’s on your mind?’

Audrey quickly put the letter down and plastered a smile on her face.

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking about Charlie.’

Elsie nodded and smiled, wondering if she’d had news of Charlie but not told anyone. She wouldn’t put it past Audrey to keep news to herself so as not to burden anyone else.

‘You must miss him dreadfully,’ said Elsie. ‘Especially now you have the twins. Have you had word of him again?’

Elsie held her breath when she saw Audrey’s bottom lip tremble. She reached out for her sister-in-law’s hand, curling her fingers around her palm.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked.

Audrey bent her head and a few moments passed before Elsie noticed the other woman’s shoulders were silently heaving and tears were dripping onto her lap. Leaning towards her, she put her arms round Audrey’s shoulders and hugged her. In all the time they’d known one another, Elsie had never seen Audrey so vulnerable.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, ignore me,’ said Audrey, sniffing. ‘I’m being silly and self-indulgent. No good crying! How daft I am.’

Audrey pulled away and started to dry her eyes, but Elsie gently took hold of her wrists.

‘Audrey, please,’ she said, ‘you are always the strong one. Always here for everyone at the bakery, giving out advice and helping people. You were there for me when I needed you. Why don’t you talk to me about what’s bothering you?’

Audrey shook her head and sighed. Reaching into her pocket for her handkerchief, she dried her eyes and blinked.

‘It’s nothing more complicated than the war – and the simple fact that I miss my Charlie more than there are words to describe,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘The twins are growing so quickly, and they don’t know their father. I’m normally good at thinking the best and living in hope, but just lately I can’t shake this feeling that something has happened to Charlie. I’ve been having dreams, horrible dreams, about him dying in agony.’

She paused and shook her head, rolling her eyes at herself.

‘That’s the truth of it, Elsie, and I’m no different to the hundreds of thousands of other people in this country missing their loved ones,’ she went on. ‘We are all in it together, and we must never, never give up, I know that. I don’t know what’s got a hold of me. I suppose I dread the twins never knowing Charlie.’

Elsie smiled in understanding, racking her brains for ways to lift Audrey’s spirits.

‘Have you told the twins much about Charlie?’ she ventured. Audrey stood up and walked over to where the twins were sleeping in their crib, shaking her head. Now almost four months grown, Donald and Emily were beginning to roll over from their backs to their fronts, strengthening their necks by trying to arch their backs, making noises that sounded like the beginning of real speech. Gazing down at their sleeping faces, Audrey was quiet for a moment before she replied.

‘In all honesty, Elsie, I haven’t,’ she said, her voice faint. ‘I don’t know why. I suppose I’m worried I’ll cry in front of them! That wouldn’t do. I have to be strong.’

‘You are strong,’ Elsie said. ‘Why don’t you, once a day, every day, talk to the twins about Charlie? Tell them every detail about him, Audrey, share every story you cherish – and even those you don’t. That way, they can begin to get to know their father, even while he’s away.’

‘Yes,’ said Audrey, with a small smile. ‘Yes, you’re right, I should do that.’

‘I’ve another idea too,’ said Elsie. ‘You said that you wanted to get a photograph of the twins taken for Charlie. Why don’t you get on and organise that so he has a keepsake? If you leave it too long, the war will be over!’

Audrey lifted her head to face Elsie and gave a gentle laugh, shaking her head at herself.

‘Thank you,’ she said, reaching for Elsie’s hand and squeezing it, ‘I must keep on keeping on and not let those dark thoughts get the better of me. Being down in the dumps won’t bring Charlie home sooner or bring an end to this blasted war. Thank you, Elsie. Thank you for listening.’

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From that day on, when Audrey bathed the twins in a tin bucket in the kitchen sink, she talked to them about Charlie. While Emily and Donald splashed happily in the shallow water, pumping their chubby little arms up and down in excitement, Audrey started at the very beginning. She began with the day she’d first met Charlie, there at the bakery, when, new to Bournemouth, she’d come to Barton’s looking for a job to help support herself and William. She racked her brains for every detail she could remember, from the blue shirt sleeves Charlie had worn and the blond hairs on his freckled forearms to the way his eyelashes and brows were coated in a light dusting of flour. She recounted the vigour with which he whitewashed the bakery walls and the sound of his laughter as he chuckled through the fabric of the tea towel he’d wrapped over his nose and mouth to protect his lungs. She spoke of his favourite food – a cone of cockles in vinegar from Mudeford Quay – and the old folk song he whistled while washing his face in a basin full of cold water after his shift in the stifling hot bakehouse. She retold the stories of their marriage and relished every memory, hoping that Emily and Donald were listening, but not minding too much if they weren’t. In truth, she looked forward to those quiet moments spent with the babies, talking about their father, her one true love. It was a precious time to be together as a family, in heart and mind if not in person.

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The photograph was arranged for a Sunday afternoon, when there would be time for Audrey to dress the babies in their finest baby clothes. Emily was in a yellow knitted dress, matinee jacket, bonnet and booties and Donald wore a pale blue knitted romper suit.

‘Where would you like us to be?’ Fred, the elderly photographer from Walton and Sons Photographers, said after shaking hands with Audrey in the bakery shop. ‘I think we should probably be outside. It’s a beautiful day.’

Audrey smiled at the old man, who had kept the family business going in studios located above a sports outfitter in Southbourne High Street, despite his sons joining up. He’d been so sweet when she’d gone to see him and explained that she wanted a photograph to send to Charlie. Film was rationed, so Audrey was able to order a maximum of two photographs, and she’d arranged for him to take one of the twins and another of everyone at the bakery, standing in front of the shop. She planned to frame and hang the group photograph on the bakery wall, alongside those of Charlie’s ancestor Eric, who started up the bakery, and one of Charlie looking handsome in his bakery whites, taken years previously.

‘Yes, outside would be perfect,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Fred. I hope the twins smile for you!’

‘Children and animals are notorious for not doing what you want them to do.’ He laughed. ‘But we’ll be all right.’

Gathering everyone together, Audrey couldn’t help but feel Charlie’s absence more strongly, but she did her best to hide her feelings. It was wartime – everyone was missing someone.

As William, Elsie, Betty and the three children, Lily, Joy, Mary and Pat tried to organise themselves in front of the shop window, Audrey realised that Uncle John was missing.

‘John!’ she called, and he hurried outside with a half-jog, half-walk, dressed in full bakery whites and making everyone laugh. ‘Here I am,’ he said.

Once the photograph of Emily and Donald, in Audrey’s arms, had been taken, Fred shuffled people around to make a prettier line and then returned to his camera and tripod on the pavement. Various friends and neighbours had gathered to see what was going on – and a small boy kept darting in front of the family to try to get in the picture.

‘Get out of it, you scamp!’ shouted Uncle John. The boy didn’t do it again.

‘All right, everyone,’ said Fred, positioning himself behind the camera. ‘After the count of three, smile!’

There was a hush while they waited for Fred to begin counting and Audrey juggled a wriggling Emily in her arms, while to her left Pat held Donald.

‘One,’ Fred called. ‘Two—’

And just before the count of ‘three’, out the corner of her eye Audrey spotted the familiar figure of a man limping down Fisherman’s Road towards them. Turning her head sharply to the left and rapidly blinking to see more clearly in the bright sunlight, she gasped. Just as Fred called ‘three’ her jaw dropped and she staggered backwards, her perfect astonishment captured on film.

‘Charlie!’ she whispered, before breaking away from the line and running towards him. Throwing her arms round his shoulders, she pushed her face into his chest, hardly able to believe what was happening.

‘I can’t believe you’re here!’ she said, looking up at Charlie, who leaned over to kiss her firmly on the lips. ‘I’ve been so worried, I’ve had these awful thoughts that you were in trouble, that you had been killed! Oh Charlie!’

‘I’m alive and kicking,’ he said. ‘Just a bit hungry and injured. I’ve got a bit of leave until this heals up.’

Charlie indicated to his left knee and lower leg, which were bandaged. A moment later and he was swamped by handshakes and hugs and cries of disbelief; and when Audrey finally calmed her racing heart and got around to noticing, Fred the photographer had gone.

‘Come inside, Charlie love,’ she said, slipping her arm through his, ‘and I’ll make you a sandwich.’

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Fred delivered the photographs to the bakery the following day. The picture of the twins was perfect because they’d both smiled at the right time, though Emily’s bonnet had slipped a little. The group shot had captured the exact moment that Audrey spotted Charlie. Her mouth was open and her hand on her heart, her gaze tracked by Pat and John, who were also looking away from the camera. As she laughed at the image, she could have no idea that the photograph would be kept on mantelpieces for generations to come, with people pointing at her and asking who or what had she seen, the story becoming family folklore. She didn’t think of the future at all, just of the now.

Although she had only ordered two photographs, there was a third in the packet. Slowly, she pulled it out of the sleeve and, holding it to the light, took a sharp intake of breath. It was the most beautiful photograph she had ever seen. The image captured two lovers locked in a sweet embrace, their bodies urgently pressed together, reunited after the torturous separation of war, expressions of pure and utter joy written on their faces. The photograph was of Charlie and Audrey Barton, together again.