Audrey tied a length of string round the bundle of parsley and dill that she’d plucked from the vegetable patch. Attaching the fragrant bunch to a nail banged into the wall above the kitchen sink, she rubbed the leaves between her fingers and breathed in their fresh scent. In times of rationing, herbs were a good way to add much-needed flavour and depth to a dish. She’d tried adding chives to the scones for the shop, and that had gone down well. Folk were grateful for any inventiveness.

‘I hope there’s enough to go round,’ she muttered, turning to give the pot on the range a stir. Her appetite was whetted by the mouth-watering smell of the bacon rasher she’d chopped up into tiny pieces to include in the brown stew she was cooking. Being pregnant had benefits – apart from the obvious one of having a baby after years of believing she could never fall; there was the National Milk Scheme, which allowed extra milk for pregnant women, an extra egg allocation and an extra half-ration of meat a week. Not that she kept the extras for herself. No, that wouldn’t do at all. She shared them with the bakery family. After all, everyone at the bakery would have to be involved with looking after the baby when it was born, so she could continue running the bakery business. Just thinking about how she would manage once the baby arrived made her head spin.

‘Ouch!’ she yelled, suddenly dropping the wooden spoon and doubling over in pain. Holding her hand against her abdomen, she limped over to a wooden chair at the kitchen table and carefully sat down, gently rubbing her bump. Frowning, she stared out of the kitchen window – where the sill was crowded with cucumber plants and a pot of red geraniums – at the early evening sky. A ridge of clouds half-obscured the setting sun and she wondered, for the umpteenth time, if she should tell the doctor about these pains she’d been having. No, there was only a matter of weeks to go until she was due and if she told the doctor he’d no doubt insist that she stop working, but she couldn’t afford that. Nor did she want to be idle when there was always so much to do.

‘Is something burning?’ asked Elsie, Audrey’s sister-in-law, who was living with her new husband William at the bakery, popping her head round the kitchen door. Audrey gasped and, now that the pain had subsided, leapt from her seat, picked up the spoon from the floor and dashed over to the range, where she quickly stirred the brown stew before it was ruined.

‘Rescued it,’ said Audrey. ‘Goodness me, where’s my head? Thank you, Elsie. How are you, love?’

Elsie came into the kitchen in her smart green uniform, stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Slim-built, with raven-black hair, Elsie usually had radiant skin but it looked bleached out, and her stance was one of someone who needed a good rest. She’d worked long hours as a clippie on the buses in Bournemouth since the war began and was now doing a bus driver training course too. Audrey was full of admiration for Elsie – she was a hard-working, big-hearted young woman, who’d been so understanding to William when he came back from the front line horrifically wounded in body and mind.

‘Why don’t you sit down, Audrey?’ said Elsie. ‘Put your feet up for once and let me cook today.’

‘No, Elsie,’ said Audrey. ‘You’ve had a busy day and look like you need to rest. Why don’t you sit down?’

Elsie grinned and gratefully sat down, resting back in the chair and turning her neck from side to side to ease out the cricks. Audrey poured her a cup of tea and placed it on the table. The last thing she wanted was to be treated like an invalid. Pregnant women through the ages had worked their socks off and still put a dinner on the table for a dozen mouths – without ever putting their feet up. She wasn’t about to change that.

‘Thank you,’ said Elsie, holding the cup of tea in her hands and closing her eyes for a moment. ‘I’ve looked forward to this cup of tea all day.’

‘Did you hear about Jacques?’ said Audrey. ‘Would you believe the boy’s alive? Lily received a telegram from him this morning. He was in a camp, but he managed to escape. That’s all I know, but the most important thing is that he’s alive. Miracles do happen.’

Elsie’s eyes pinged open and a smile exploded onto her face.

‘Oh my goodness, that’s amazing news!’ she said. ‘His family must be over the moon!’

Audrey watched Elsie’s glorious smile fade slightly as she moved her gaze to the window, and silently chastised herself. Other people’s good news sometimes made people feel their own losses more strongly, she knew that. Elsie had her own hardships to bear. Her father, Alberto, was away in a prisoner-of-war camp himself on the Isle of Man. He had been arrested and escorted from his home in the middle of the night for being an Italian national, despite having been in England for over thirty years. Her mother Violet was in poor health and missed Alberto terribly, not to mention her young twin sisters, June and Joyce, who just wanted their papa home and couldn’t understand why he was being treated in such a way by a country that was his home. Then there had been the dreadful loss of so many Italian internees on the torpedoed ship, the Arandora Star – a blight on the conscience of the government. It was a dreadful business.

And of course, Elsie’s relationship with William hadn’t been a smooth ride. He’d come back from France a different man in many ways, but she had stuck by him, continually loving and loyal.

‘How are William’s spirits at the moment?’ Audrey asked, changing the subject. ‘Do you think he’s improved since your wedding? He did seem to turn a corner at the end of last year, but I’m not daft, I know he’s a tortured soul. Thank goodness he’s got the bakehouse to keep him busy.’

Elsie smiled, a little sadly, and gave a small nod of her head. Audrey knew Elsie was holding something inside, but that she wasn’t one to complain.

‘What is it?’ Audrey asked. ‘Get it off your chest, Elsie. It’s only me you’re talking to. William might be my brother, but I’ll make no judgements, whatever you say.’

Audrey got on with chopping up carrots – of which there was a nationwide glut – to give Elsie a chance to talk.

‘Oh, it’s just that every night William has a terrible nightmare,’ Elsie said, wrapping her arms round her middle as if she had stomach cramp. ‘He cries out and sits bolt upright, shivering and trembling, with his hands flying around as if he’s trying to push his way out of a hole. He says he can’t breathe, that he’s buried. It’s so dark in the room because of the blackout and it’s as though he thinks he’s suffocating.’

Audrey paused from chopping and turned to face Elsie, noticing her lips trembling as she spoke. Her heart went out to her sister-in-law. They had been married only six months earlier – almost certainly, nightmares were hardly the beginning to married life she’d hoped for.

‘Gracious me,’ said Audrey, remembering the dreadful secret that William had told her about in confidence before his wedding to Elsie. He had said he was going to put it all behind him, but clearly wasn’t able to let it go. Men weren’t keen on talking, but Audrey firmly believed that it helped – a problem shared was a problem halved.

‘Has he ever explained what happened when he was fighting in France?’ she ventured.

‘You mean about the accident in the truck?’ Elsie said, looking at her hands. ‘Yes, it sounds dreadful – and to lose his foot must be so difficult to live with… he’s often in pain, I know that.’

‘I don’t mean that,’ Audrey said quietly. ‘Has he mentioned anything else?’

‘No,’ said Elsie, frowning. ‘He says he wants to put the whole experience in a box, lock it up and never open it again. Do you know something I don’t?’

Audrey moved to the range and stirred her dish again, biting her lip. She didn’t know whether to continue. Perhaps she’d said too much, but how was anything going to change between William and Elsie if he didn’t open up to his wife?

‘I may be speaking out of turn, but perhaps you should ask him to tell you everything,’ Audrey said quietly. ‘Ask him about his friend David.’

Elsie looked confused and opened her mouth to ask another question, but Audrey raised her wooden spoon to silence her.

‘I’ve said all I should,’ she said. ‘Talk to William when you can. I’m sure it’ll be for the best. Anyway, love, are you ready for our “make do and mend” sewing and clothes-swapping this evening? They’ll all be here soon, and I’ve invited a new girl, Betty, who’s trying out in the shop tomorrow as the new shop girl. I thought it would be a good way for us to get to know one another and I’ve some sewing needs doing. Renovations help the nation and all that.’

‘Yes,’ said Elsie quietly, clearly preoccupied by what Audrey had said about William. ‘I’ve got some socks that need darning. I’m on fire-watching duty late tonight but I’ll join you before then.’

‘Good,’ said Audrey, placing the lid on the brown stew and leaning her back against the kitchen counter. ‘And don’t worry, Elsie, things will get better.’

Elsie unbuttoned her green clippie jacket and hung it in the narrow solid-wood wardrobe, alongside William’s Sunday best. She felt the soft material of his well-worn cotton shirt in her fingers, wondering what dreadful memory was plaguing his dreams and who David was. Glancing at the bed, she recalled the way his body had become drenched in sweat the previous night as he tossed and turned under the sheet as if he was literally wrestling his demons. None of the women she knew whose sons or husbands had returned from war too wounded to return to active service ever talked about a change in their menfolk’s personalities. Was Elsie alone, or did other people just not speak of it, preferring to pretend nothing was wrong? Were they ashamed of what might be considered a moral weakness? She shook her head in dismay, wondering whether she should bring up what happened in France with William, as Audrey had suggested, or whether she should just stay quiet, as William obviously wished.

Moving to the window, she opened it wide and leaned on the sill, resting her chin in her hand, half-closing her eyes and savouring the warmth as the evening breeze caressed her skin. A sudden ripple of anxiety made her open her eyes and she blinked rapidly in the sinking sunshine: what if William’s nightmares never went away? What if his mental scars ran more deeply and were as permanent as his facial scars? They were worse, really, she thought, for being invisible.

At that moment William burst through the door, wearing a big smile on his face. Surprised, Elsie immediately grinned back, her anxieties evaporating and spirits lifting. Perhaps she was worrying too much, but it was always so difficult to second-guess his mood.

‘You look happy!’ she said, kissing him quickly on the cheek before sitting on the bed and leaning her head back on the pillow.

‘I’ve just been playing paper, scissors, stones with Mary in the bakehouse,’ he said. ‘She’s such a sweet child – and brave considering all she’s been through too. I could learn a thing or two from her.’

William was referring to the little evacuee girl who Audrey was in the process of adopting. Mary had tragically lost her brother, mother and father to the war and, when she had first arrived in Bournemouth, she hadn’t said a single word for months; but despite all the grief she carried, bakery life agreed with her and she had come out of her shell.

‘She is brave.’ Elsie nodded in acknowledgment of Mary’s courageous spirit. ‘She’s coped with more sorrow in her few years than some have in a whole lifetime.’

William, now sitting next to Elsie on the bed, pulled her into his body, wrapping his arms round her waist. With her head against his chest, she listened to the steady thump, thump of his heartbeat, relaxed into his body’s warmth and closed her eyes.

‘Makes me wonder if we should have a child of our own,’ he said softly.

Elsie opened her eyes and blinked. She didn’t reply straight away, but remained sitting with her head tucked under his chin, breathing in his scent – a combination of freshly baked bread and flour – and listening to his heartbeat. She felt a myriad of emotions as she gently moved from her position, reached for his hands and looked him directly in the eye. Deep down, she felt that William was in no fit state to become a father. Besides, Elsie was determined to volunteer her services for the war effort and was committed to doing her bit. With the men away, she was needed on the buses and felt she was helping the war to conclude faster. She wanted it over as quickly as possible, for her father Alberto to be returned from the Isle of Man – and for life with William to feel on a more even keel before they started a family. Cupping his face with her hands, she smiled and slowly shook her head.

‘I don’t think it’s the right time to have a child,’ she said gently. ‘You’ll be needed even more in the bakehouse, at all hours, with Audrey about to have her baby. And if I’m not working on the buses, who will be?’

‘The government are encouraging civilians to have babies,’ said William. ‘They’re saying it’s a duty to our country to bring more babies into the world. It’s one in the eye for Hitler, isn’t it?’

Elsie couldn’t hide her shock and irritation.

‘Why, because a baby would replace a man who’s been killed? To provide more soldiers to send off to fight?’ said Elsie. ‘Isn’t that demeaning the lives of those we’ve lost? In my opinion avenging Hitler isn’t a reason to have a family. No, William, I’d rather do my bit to help win this war by doing war work and volunteering, then think of having children later, when peacetime comes. There’ll be time for a family after the war, I know it.’

With a deep, exasperated sigh, William stood up from the bed, yanked open a drawer from the chest of drawers and pulled out a fresh vest ready for his next stint in the bakehouse. His smile had vanished, and Elsie felt guilty for crushing his enthusiasm and high spirits. She wanted to boost his happiness, not quash it, and she chastised herself for not handling the situation better. But at the same time, another voice in her head told her that she had to be honest about her feelings and couldn’t keep treading on eggshells around him. Otherwise, how would their marriage ever work?

‘Anyway, did you hear the news about Jacques, the French soldier who stayed at the bakery?’ babbled Elsie, knowing that this news would cheer him. ‘He’s written to Lily to say he’s alive! Course she’s worried about telling him about Joy. But isn’t it good news?! His mother must be celebrating, mustn’t she?’

The atmosphere in the room grew suddenly colder and William seemed to withdraw into himself, completely, as if he’d pulled up a drawbridge and locked it shut. Having finished dressing, he gave her a quick smile and a nod but said nothing.

‘Aren’t you pleased to hear that?’ Elsie said, confused. ‘I mean, don’t we need news like that, to give us all hope? To lift us?’

Looking agitated, he rubbed his forehead and slowly lifted his head to face her.

‘Yes,’ he snapped, ‘of course I’m glad to hear it. I just can’t help thinking of the other families who don’t get good news. Those families whose lives fall apart when the messenger boy knocks on their door and hands them a telegram from the War Office. Can you imagine how that must be for those poor mothers? Not knowing how their sons died, only imagining the pain they suffered, knowing that they were probably alone and in agony… it’s, well, to be honest, Elsie, just thinking about it fills me with rage.’

William pressed his hands against both sides of his head, as if it was about to burst with pressure. Elsie frowned, her stomach somersaulting and heart pounding. His anger was tangible and made her shiver.

‘William?’ she said, approaching him and resting her hand on his arm, but he brushed off her affection, snatched his crutches from where they leaned on the wall and headed towards the door.

‘William, why won’t you talk to me?’ she said as he limped out of the bedroom and let the door swing shut. Reducing her voice to a whisper, she continued: ‘Why haven’t you told me who David is?’

By now William was downstairs. With a grunt of frustration, Elsie picked up his shirt and threw it at the door, where it fell limply into a crumpled heap. She lay down on the bed, thudding the back of her head on the pillow and kicking her heels into the mattress as she stared up at the ceiling. She released a furious sigh. He has to talk to me, she decided. I’ll make him talk to me, even if it’s the last thing I do.