Later that evening, after the family had enjoyed stew and fresh vegetables, Audrey brought out a sweet treat.

‘I’ve made my honey cake,’ she said, easing herself carefully into the empty chair at the kitchen table. Heavily pregnant as she was, everything took a little bit more effort than it used to. ‘There’s no eggs or butter in it, but it’s sweet,’ she continued, placing the fragrant cake in the middle of the table. ‘It’ll have to do until we can get all our favourites back.’

Audrey smiled at the assembled group, whose eyes were fixed on the cake in front of them. Outside the window the evening sky glowed with the orange embers of the setting sun, just visible above the sea on the horizon, giving the kitchen a warm, golden glow – as if the whole room were bathed in honey. The wireless played out in the background; Gracie Fields was singing, and just for the briefest moment, in spite of all the all-pervading and ever-present worry about the menfolk away at war, Audrey felt a brief sense of peace. Jacques was safe – that was such marvellous news – and she was so excited to be expecting a baby. Even in wartime, there were reasons to be cheerful.

Sweeping her hand over the worn wooden tabletop, which had survived last year’s blast when a bomb hit the front of the bakery, she lifted the large brown teapot and served Elsie, Pat, little Mary, Lily and Lily’s friend Christine a cup of tea, then gently removed the delicate beaded crochet cover from the top of the milk jug.

‘Help yourselves to the milk,’ she said. ‘Being pregnant, I get extra on the National Milk Scheme, so don’t feel you need to be frugal.’

The women murmured in appreciation as Audrey cut the dense, sticky cake and passed round generous slices. Living in austerity meant that every treat was fully savoured. That was one thing about this dreadful war – it made you appreciate everything you had, whether it be family, a roof over your head, a night without an air raid siren going off or the ingredients to put together a decent dinner.

‘Oh, what would we do without you and your ingenious cakes to help us through these dark times?’ said Pat, still proudly wearing her WVS smock and peering at Audrey with bright blue eyes the spit of Charlie’s but magnified through her round spectacles. ‘Now sweets are on the ration I’ve heard people are chopping each sweet into four pieces, to make them last. Or, for those lucky enough to get their hands on a Mars Bar, they’re slicing them into seven pieces, so they can have a slice every day. It’s amazing what folk will do to cheer up their days. Oh, but I must tell you this: I was in a queue today and one woman, well, I’ve never heard so much complaining because the shopkeeper wouldn’t sell her one single shoe. She didn’t want to spend her clothing coupons on a whole pair, so insisted on buying just one single shoe! What’s that shopkeeper going to do with the other one? You’d think she would just be sensible, button her lip and get on with it, but no, she argued until she was blue in the face!’

Pat raised her eyebrows so high in disgust they almost touched her hairline. Lily caught Audrey’s eye and Audrey laughed affectionately. Her mother-in-law was a tough old boot, intensely patriotic and remarkably hard-working. She threw herself into any WVS task without a word of complaint, whether it be helping to coordinate housing for people made homeless following raids, collecting books for servicemen and women or grooming dogs for their hair, which was spun into yarn and knitted like wool.

‘I expect you set her straight!’ said Audrey, smiling at Pat, who nodded enthusiastically.

‘One shoe indeed!’ Pat tutted.

‘This is delicious, Mrs Barton,’ said Lily’s friend Christine, the young woman who was staying at the convalescent home after coming to Bournemouth from Bristol with her baby for some respite after the horrific Bristol Blitz bombing. ‘The food in the home isn’t very good – but their teacakes are tasty.’

‘That’s because we supply them with their bread and teacakes! Every morning at 7 a.m., our delivery boy drops them to the door,’ Audrey replied, giving her another slice of cake. ‘How’s that little girl of yours doing? Bless her heart!’

Christine’s daughter, Aggi, was slowly being exposed to the sound of aircraft to help her change her negative associations of the noise.

‘She’s much improved,’ said Christine. ‘I think we’ll return to Bristol soon, otherwise my friends and family – or what’s left of them – will forget us!’

Lily draped her arm round Christine and briefly rested her head on her new friend’s shoulder.

‘We’ll miss you!’ she said, but Christine playfully pushed her away.

‘You’ve got Jacques to think about now, Lily!’ she said. ‘Your handsome French sweetheart!’

Audrey smiled as Lily blushed, but didn’t miss the look of apprehension that passed over Lily’s face. She made a mental note to talk to her about it all when they were alone together – a sweetheart coming back from the dead was a lot to cope with. Noticing the time on the clock, Audrey set out another plate and cleared her throat.

‘So, I’m expecting Betty any moment – she’s a little late,’ said Audrey. ‘I’m giving her a trial in the shop, to see if she can do Maggie’s old job, and I asked her to come along tonight for a slice of cake and to meet you all. I’ve said we’re having a clothes exchange and a sewing, darning or knitting get-together, so I hope you will welcome her.’

At that moment there was a knock on the door and Audrey pulled her apron off and smoothed down her dress, which was an old raspberry pink frock that she’d sewn contrasting floral front panels into to allow space for her bump. She was entitled to extra clothing coupons for maternity wear but had decided to do the right thing and get by with what she already had. Where she could make savings to help the war effort, she would.

‘Budge up, Mary dear,’ said Audrey over her shoulder. ‘Make room for Betty. I’ll go and fetch her.’

Opening the door to Betty and welcoming her in, Audrey was once again struck by the girl’s threadbare dress and uneven haircut. Frowning slightly, she wondered how she could possibly mention it without offending her – she didn’t want one of the older customers to get in there first and hurt her feelings. Some of the ladies had tongues sharp as knives.

‘Come upstairs, Betty,’ she said. ‘We’re all in the kitchen, tucking into that honey cake I told you about.’

Opening the kitchen door, Audrey introduced Betty to the women and Mary, who all greeted her with smiles. Pat, standing to shake the girl’s hand, patted her on the head.

‘I’m Pat, Audrey’s mother-in-law,’ she said. ‘I see you’ve cut your own hair, lovey? I think that needs straightening up. I know, I know, there’s no time for going to the hairdresser’s in wartime and it feels like too much of an indulgence, doesn’t it, but I’m as good as any hairdresser. Let me get my scissors.’

Audrey, blushing on Betty’s account, murmured in protest, ‘Well, I…’ but Pat was insistent.

‘Sit down, Betty,’ she instructed.

‘I… I…’ said Betty, her pink cheeks turning scarlet.

‘It won’t take me a minute,’ said Pat, gently pushing down on Betty’s shoulders so she sat down on a chair. ‘This is Elsie, Audrey’s sister-in-law. That’s Lily, Audrey’s stepsister. This is Mary, who came to us as an evacuee but is now one of the family, aren’t you, Mary? Then this is Christine, who’s Lily’s friend. She’s here from Bristol; the local convalescent home offered respite to mothers with babies who had suffered during the Bristol Blitz, poor mites.’

Audrey watched Betty turn even redder as she nodded and smiled at the group. The poor girl seemed desperately shy, Audrey thought, and the last thing she needed was Pat cutting her hair in front of an audience. There was no telling Pat though; she was a force to be reckoned with. Audrey would have to think about a way to give Betty a new dress without embarrassing her further – some folk were very proud about that kind of thing.

‘Pat, maybe this isn’t the…’ started Audrey, but Pat was already snipping at Betty’s hair. Audrey smiled apologetically at the young woman. She set out a slice of cake for her and placed a cup of tea in her hand. Betty mouthed a ‘thank you’ and carefully sipped her tea.

‘There,’ said Pat after a couple of minutes. ‘You’re all straight now. When you’re working front of house in the bakery you have to look the part. Our older customers are very fussy about appearances. Why don’t you tell us all about yourself. Where are you from?’

Betty felt the bottom of her newly clipped hair and after a strained ‘thank you’, sat with everyone at the table. She had her back half-turned to Christine, who was chewing the inside of her cheek and narrowing her eyes, as if she was trying to remember something.

‘I’m staying in a rented room in Lansdowne, but I’m here from Portsmouth—’ started Betty, but Christine interrupted.

‘I thought you were going to say you’re from Bristol, like me,’ said Christine. ‘I could swear I recognise you from somewhere. Maybe the tobacco factory? Have you ever worked there?’

‘No,’ Betty said vehemently, shaking her head. ‘Never heard of it.’

‘Oh,’ said Christine coldly. ‘That’s odd.’

Audrey felt the atmosphere in the room change, as if an icy wind was blowing in from the sea. She moved over to the window and slammed it shut. A sudden silence fell over the room and, detecting Betty’s discomfort, Audrey felt confused. Something was going on between those girls but she didn’t know what. Lifting down her sewing basket from the dresser, she coughed to gain everyone’s attention.

‘Shall we begin knitting and darning?’ she asked. ‘Betty, you can work on this bakery smock, so you’ve something to wear when you come in tomorrow. It used to belong to Maggie. It needs a small patch here to strengthen the elbow, that’s all. I’m going to try to drop the waist on Mary’s school dress here, to keep pace with her growing!’

Audrey patted Mary’s head and kissed her cheek, quietly delighted that Mary was growing like a weed and flourishing in her care. All those hours spent digging in the allotment and those spoons of rosehip syrup had put roses in Mary’s cheeks. She was going to be a lovely older sister to the baby when he or she was born too.

‘Remember, ladies, in these times no economy is too small,’ said Pat.

Elsie laughed affectionately.

‘You sound like those announcements on the radio from the Board of Trade,’ said Elsie, then, sitting straighter and speaking in an upper-class accent: ‘Every woman is her own clothes doctor!’

Everyone laughed, then they all started to pick up needles and threads and the project they were sewing, while Christine sat still as the stocks, staring at Betty in confusion.

‘I just know I recognise you from somewhere,’ she muttered, frowning. ‘I can’t work it out. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies!’

But Betty just smiled and shrugged as if she didn’t know what Christine was talking about and, with her head down so her hair fell over her face, started sewing the bakery overall until Christine lost interest. Only Audrey noticed that Betty’s hands were trembling as she began to stitch. Briefly resting her hand on Betty’s shoulder, she smiled at her.

‘There’s no rush,’ she said kindly. ‘Take your time, love. Oh, and I’ve got a couple of dresses that might fit you if you’d be so kind as to take them off my hands? They’re no good for me anymore, but I think they’d be lovely on you, with a little nip and tuck. I’ll just fetch them from upstairs. They’re wasted hanging in the wardrobe and never seeing the light of day.’

‘You need to slow down, young lady,’ said Pat, gently grabbing Audrey’s wrist. ‘You’ve not stopped since we got here. Let me or Mary get the dresses for you.’

Audrey tutted, waved her hand in the air dismissively and went up to her bedroom. In the quiet of her room, which smelled faintly of her Pond’s face cream and of the cologne that Charlie used to wear on special occasions, she let her gaze rest on the framed photograph of her and Charlie on their wedding day. From nowhere, her eyes filled with tears, and she wiped at them in frustration. She missed Charlie dreadfully and it pained her that he hadn’t even acknowledged the letter that she’d sent to tell him she was pregnant. What if he didn’t know she was with child? What if all he ever was to this baby was a photograph? How she yearned to talk to him, to hear his firm but gentle voice, to feel the warmth of his arms round her…

‘Oh, stop it, you daft thing,’ she told herself. You could be in a constant state of bad nerves if you didn’t control yourself.

Opening the wardrobe door, she pulled out two day dresses that she thought would fit Betty. They weren’t anything special, but something gave her the feeling that the girl probably only owned the dress she stood up in, so these would do her a good turn. Draping them over her arm, Audrey stopped suddenly as a sharp pain dug into her abdomen and lower back. Her face paled with the pain as she bent over and pressed her fingers into her lower stomach. Hobbling to the edge of the bed, she rested for a moment on the mattress until the pain subsided. Stricken with panic, she hoped to goodness that the baby was safe and healthy. What if she really was doing too much? Pat’s words repeated in her head: You need to slow down, young lady.

Betty didn’t fully breathe again that evening until she was back in her rented digs, having raced up the communal wooden staircase and slammed shut the door to her tiny, dank bedroom on the second floor of the shabby hotel that had seen better days. She leaned against the door and locked it. Her heart pounded in her chest and goose-bumps erupted on her arms as Christine’s words echoed in her head.

I just know I recognise you from somewhere. Of course she did recognise her from Bristol. Christine’s husband, Dick, was a friend of Robert's – they’d gone drinking together before the war. Betty knew that Christine would quickly cotton on to her lie, probably already had. She wondered if she should try to tell Christine the truth about Robert? Perhaps she would understand… or would she still tell Dick, and then Dick would tell Robert where Betty had gone. Oh dear, it was all such a mess!

‘I should never have gone there this evening,’ she admonished herself aloud. She almost hadn’t, but the promise of a homely evening with Audrey and her family had been too tempting to forgo. With shaking hands, she draped the dresses Audrey had kindly given her over the back of a chair and moved over to the narrow bed, kicking off her shoes and quickly undressing to her slip before climbing under the thin eiderdown. Shivering, she rested her head on the envelope-thin pillow, blinking in the darkness, trying to work out what she should do for the best. Somewhere in the distance came the sound of aircraft, and Betty held her breath for a moment, dreading the wail of the air raid siren. Trying to keep calm, she reminded herself that there was a shared shelter in the basement of the hotel so she didn’t have far to go to safety. When the siren didn’t sound and the sound of aircraft faded, she sighed in relief, forcing the terrifying memories of the Bristol Blitz from her mind.

Tossing and turning in bed, Betty couldn’t stop worrying about Christine. If she hadn’t already, how long would it be before she remembered who Betty was? Perhaps she shouldn’t even turn up to the job at the bakery tomorrow. Perhaps she should move on to another town instead and disappear again. But she’d already paid a non-refundable month’s rent up front on this room, and she wouldn’t want to let Audrey down after all she’d done for her. No, she thought, trying to get comfortable in the bed, which squeaked and creaked when she moved, she would either have to speak to Christine and tell her the truth about why she’d run away, or avoid her at all costs and hope that she forgot all about Betty.

Just as she was beginning to drift off to sleep, she was disturbed by a heated discussion, followed by laughter, between a man and woman in the room next to hers. Instantly, her thoughts went to Robert and Doris. Thinking of them together, clinched in an embrace, her heart ached, and she pulled her bony knees up to her chest, hugging them tight. She felt so utterly betrayed by Robert, who she had loved so much; and now, even in Bournemouth, his wrongdoing was still affecting her life. What made it all the more terrible was how silly she felt for not having known that he was married to another woman and a father to three young children. Was she really stupid and short-sighted enough to have missed the signs? Of course, now that she knew the truth, when she looked back she saw signs everywhere – the nights he was away with no explanation, the lack of money, the exhaustion and irritability…

‘What a fool I am to have trusted him!’ she said out loud into the empty room, shocked by the fury in her own voice.

At least I have his savings, she thought bitterly, but that fact did little to cheer her up. Besides, his savings wouldn’t last long. As she slipped into a blank, dreamless sleep, she made a vow to herself: I will never trust a man ever again. Not ever.