Audrey poured black treacle into the enormous bowl of deliciously fragrant fruity, spicy mixture and held up the wooden spoon.

‘Who’s first?’ she asked, glancing up at Charlie, his Uncle John, Elsie, Lily, Mary, Pat, Elsie’s mother Violet and the twins, who were all gathered around the kitchen table, which was crowded with dried fruit, mixed spice, butter, grated carrots, brown sugar, flour, peel and treacle. It was Stir-up Sunday and the day that Audrey made her Christmas cakes and puddings to her grandmother’s recipe. As tradition ordered, everyone in the family would stir the family Christmas pudding mixture for luck. And never did they need luck on their side more than now.

Though the kettle was boiling on the hob and the kitchen warm and snug, one glance out of the window at the forbidding grey sky sent chills running up Audrey’s spine when she thought of the future. It had been a year since she’d seen William and months since they’d had word from him. The RAF were bombing Berlin, Hamburg and Bremen in retaliation for the bombing of London and Coventry, and there were hundreds dead in Birmingham and Southampton. In Audrey’s eyes it seemed like everyone everywhere was killing everyone else, ironically justified by being in the pursuit of peace. And now in the run-up to Christmas, families were desperate to be reunited with their loved ones, even if rationing meant festivities would be modest. Lord Woolton had said it was patriotic to be content with one Christmas pudding this year, and wait for shipments of dried fruit to arrive from Australia in January, so it hardly felt like a time to be celebrating. But, looking at the faces of those she loved in the kitchen – and knowing that each one carried their own private heartache – Audrey was determined to lift their spirits with some traditional festive cheer, however slight.

‘Ladies first,’ said Charlie, accepting the spoon and stirring the mixture. ‘And gentlemen just before.’

Laughter rippled through the room and Audrey whacked Charlie on the arm, waiting until he’d stirred and then passing the spoon to Elsie.

‘You know what I’m wishing for,’ said Elsie. ‘For William to come home.’

‘We all wish for that, darlin’,’ said John, accepting the spoon after Elsie. He closed his eyes and stirred the mixture, his strong baker’s arms making light work of the dense mixture. ‘Bottle of brandy, or whisky,’ he muttered in jest, opening his eyes a crack. ‘Tobacco… and a box of chocolates wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘John!’ laughed Audrey, elbowing him. ‘What are you like? Lily?’

Lily, eight months pregnant now, blushed a little, but accepted the spoon and stirred the mixture. Audrey touched her arm.

‘You’ll be ’oping that there baby is not born while there’s a raid on!’ said John. ‘I ’eard a young woman gave birth to twins in her Anderson shelter last week! She gave the twins the middle name “Anderson”, believe it or not!’

‘I was born in the privy,’ said Charlie, his eyes twinkling. ‘Arrived in a hurry, didn’t I, Mother? That’s why I’ve got this flat bit at the back of my head. Had all the sense knocked out of me before I’d even started.’

‘Thought there was something funny about ye!’ said John with a laugh.

‘The less said about your birth the better,’ said Pat, flustered. ‘But yes, you were. And don’t you forget it!’

The spoon was passed around the guests until everyone had had a stir and then, after dropping in a threepenny bit, Audrey made several small puddings out of the mixture and covered the basins with a piece of cloth, securing it with string and placing them in a vat of boiling water to steam. She had had a dozen orders for Christmas cakes and puddings, but with fewer ingredients available from the wholesalers – and almost no nuts at all – she had to be creative, adding grated carrots to add sweetness and moisture. There would be no marzipan or icing for the cakes this year, though she was going to experiment with mock marzipan made from flour, sugar, margarine and almond essence.

‘What did you wish for, Mary love?’ asked Audrey, as she poured tea for everyone from the teapot and put out a plate of sandwiches. Audrey glanced over at Mary, witnessing a wave of sadness pass over her face. Though she knew Mary wouldn’t answer, Audrey always made sure to ask her questions to include her in conversation.

‘I wished for my brother to come back from the dead like that Shearing boy,’ Mary said in the tiniest squeak of a voice. Everyone fell silent as the enormity of what had just happened sank in. It had been months since Mary had arrived at the bakery and this was the first time she’d spoken. Audrey threw a stern look at the adults, not wanting anyone to make a scene, and carried on calmly pouring the tea.

‘You’re a brave girl, Mary,’ said Audrey, giving the girl a cup and smiling at her, before turning away to tend the puddings, which were bobbing on the water, filling the kitchen with the bittersweet scent of Christmas.

Later, when the puddings were ready and the cakes baked, Audrey stored the ordered cakes in a tea chest in the cellar, ready for feeding with a drizzle of brandy. She let Mary poke holes into the cakes with a cocktail stick ready to absorb the alcohol, and wondered how best to ask her about her brother.

‘Mary,’ Audrey spoke quietly and slowly, ‘sometimes it’s difficult to say goodbye to someone we love. You loved your brother very much, didn’t you? Just like I love my brother, William. The thing is, Mary, though Eddie has passed on, he’s still with you in some ways, safely tucked into your heart. Even though you won’t see him again, you’ll carry him with you everywhere in your head and heart, for the rest of your life. He’s part of you.’

Mary managed the slightest nod of her head before she threw herself at Audrey, flinging her skinny arms around Audrey’s waist, weeping into her pinny.