Audrey stood at the door of a classroom in Bournemouth School turned rest centre, carrying a basket piled high with hastily prepared fish paste, cheese and beetroot doorstep sandwiches, rock cakes and buns, and took a sharp intake of breath.

‘Lily,’ she said quietly. ‘Would you look at this?’

The school was packed with camp beds and trestle tables, and brimming with volunteers who were tending to dishevelled soldiers dropping with fatigue. Some men waiting in the school’s corridors were standing in their underpants, cigarette in mouth, pulling on donated, clean trousers, their old dirty uniforms discarded at their feet and being labelled and bundled up by volunteers for washing and darning. Others were flat out on their backs, with local women lifting cups of tea to their lips. Shafts of bright sunshine shone in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, filling the room with golden sunlight and casting a heavenly light onto some of the men’s faces. Voluntary networks and first aiders worked alongside townspeople, trying to help the soldiers who had been starved of sleep and food, surviving on iron rations alone.

‘Well done Bournemouth,’ Audrey said proudly, turning again to Lily, whose eyes were fixed on a soldier in a French uniform sitting by a door that had been opened to a grassy courtyard. Following her stare, Audrey saw that the soldier had thrown a crust of bread to a squirrel and was watching it innocently scamper across the grass. A small, sad smile played on his lips and was mirrored on Lily’s lips – as if she shared exactly what the young soldier was thinking. ‘Why don’t you talk to that young man?’ Audrey suggested. ‘He looks like he could use a friend. Offer him one of these sandwiches. You know a little French, don’t you? I’m going to speak to one of the Bournemouth War Service Organisation ladies to offer up a room and some home-cooked meals for a few nights.’

‘No,’ said Lily, suddenly blushing, ‘I better not, I might get the French wrong… and… he wouldn’t want to talk to me after what he’s been through.’

Audrey put her hand on Lily’s arm, to reassure her. ‘Put your fears aside Lily,’ she said. ‘These young men are away from their homes and loved ones. They have witnessed the deaths of their friends and nearly been killed themselves. They need our welcome. I will talk to the organiser then come to find you.’

‘You’re right,’ said Lily apologetically. ‘What am I thinking of?’

She gathered herself together and approached the soldier. Audrey watched a smile break out over the soldier’s face as Lily spoke in French and shook his hand. She observed him turn out his pockets and sand pour out of them and was pleased to see the two young people share a small surprised laugh. Audrey marvelled at people’s ability to laugh, even in the bleakest times. A nurse then approached Lily and, after a short discussion, handed her a bowl filled with steaming liquid and some white cloths. Lily glanced back at Audrey, gave her a small nod, then knelt by the French soldier’s chair and gently unlaced his boots, before slowly and carefully peeling off his threadbare socks that seemed to be embedded in his toes. The muscles in the soldier’s cheeks clenched as he clearly fought back tears as Lily carefully bathed his feet. The interaction was so tender and touching that, not for the first time that afternoon, Audrey felt overcome with emotion and immense pride as she battled to keep from crying. Lily, on the other hand, was doing a wonderful job of smiling encouragingly, gently bathing the soldier’s feet and speaking softly in what sounded to Audrey’s ears like fluent French. It seemed to Audrey that Lily had arrived in town just in time – like Fate herself had played a hand.

‘Well done Lily,’ she said quietly under her breath. ‘Well done you.’

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‘Someone’s dream just came true,’ Elsie whispered to Audrey when she joined her at the emergency rest centre in Bournemouth School after her shift at Beales. One of the Dunkirk evacuees, a private from Westbourne who had been coincidentally billeted to his home town of Bournemouth, was being literally smothered in love by no fewer than eleven women and children – his wife, mother, sisters and daughters. The smiles on the women’s faces as they held onto his arms and ruffled his hair and kissed him – unadulterated joy – were a picture.

‘I know,’ said Audrey, squeezing Elsie’s hand. Though it was a long shot, they’d both been hoping and praying for the same thing: that their beloved William would be there. ‘No sign,’ Audrey said gently. ‘I’ve checked with the register here. But just because he’s not here, it doesn’t mean he’s not safe somewhere else.’

Elsie nodded and forced herself to brighten. There was plenty of helping to be done here anyway, so at least she could make herself useful. And in some small way, helping another soldier felt like helping William.

‘I came as soon as my shift was over to see if I could do anything,’ said Elsie, looking around and taking in the hive of activity. ‘But that dragon boss of mine made me stay on, to make up for the fact I was late this morning and that I dared to have a toilet break. Do you know she counts how many breaks we all take? She should get a job in the army!’

‘She sounds a bit like Pat,’ said Audrey, with a chuckle. ‘Pat was in the bakery this morning berating me for having a queue outside. Thing is, my stepsister Lily just turned up out of the blue. She’s over there, the pretty young girl with the red curls helping the French soldier. I haven’t seen her in years, not since William and I left home. I haven’t had a minute spare to find out why she’s here.’

Elsie followed Audrey’s gaze and saw Lily and a young soldier deep in conversation. She felt a pang of something over their clear connection – a craving to be able to talk to William in the same way.

‘They look like they’ve known each other years! So, is your mother here too?’ Elsie asked, but Audrey shook her head.

‘Not on your life,’ she replied. ‘My mother is glued to my stepfather’s side and nothing can prise her away from him. Anyway, Elsie, would you help me hand out these sandwiches? These men look like they could do with meat stews and dumplings, but these doorsteps will fill a gap.’

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and before Audrey returned to the bakery with Lily and the young French solider, Jacques, she invited Elsie over for tea the following week, to celebrate her birthday.

It was late when Elsie climbed onto her bike, with tired legs, and started the journey home. Seeing the soldiers in such a bad way made Elsie fear the worst for William’s chances, but with every turn of her pedals she tried to push those negative thoughts away. She would never give up hope. Could never give up hope.

Cycling towards Southbourne, she turned her thoughts to what would be waiting at home. Her mother would have prepared dinner, probably hotpot with cabbage, and would now be having five minutes on her chair in the garden swapping gossip over the fence with the neighbour as both women, never wanting to be idle, sat in their housecoats and headscarves, knitting for the Forces. Her younger twin sisters, June and Joyce, would be skipping in the street or practising their handstands against the wall before running in for the story on Children’s Hour and her papa, Angelo, after a long day at the barbershop, would be reading his newspaper, shaking his head in dismay at world affairs and talking at the wireless all through the BBC Home Service news. She adored her family but she desperately missed William. What she would give to go to a dance at the Pavilion with him, or have a night at the pictures, the two of them walking hand in hand through the pine trees in the Lower Gardens afterwards, gazing up at the stars and spotting the constellations. Just ordinary things. Ordinariness. Who would have thought that was what she would long for?

Approaching the front door of her family’s house, Elsie heard her sisters singing ‘Ten Green Bottles’ in the backyard, the smell of boiled potatoes greeting her nose. She picked two daffodils from the front garden, to give to her mother.

‘Hello, I’m back,’ she called, entering the house and hanging up her gas mask case on the coat hook in the hallway. She walked through to the kitchen and stopped dead at the door when she saw her mother waiting for her at the kitchen table, where instead of finding the table laid for dinner as it usually was at this time, she saw an envelope propped up against the teapot. Her stomach filled with wet sand and the daffodils slipped from her grip.

‘It’s for you,’ said her mother gently, reaching her hand out to Elsie. ‘My dear girl, come and sit down.’