‘This is a very peculiar arrangement,’ said Flo, irritably, waiting for her bread. Weeks later, and the bakery shop was still being repaired – and the sound of sawing and hammering was a constant background noise – but Audrey had created a makeshift ‘shop’ from the hatch window on the side of the bakehouse building. The gate to the backyard was fixed open and the customers lined up, next to the cucumber plants, chickens and Anderson shelter, where leeks and lettuces sprouted from the roof, for their bread. Even rain didn’t put off the customers. Since Lord Woolton had said on the wireless that housewives should keep one day’s worth of bread in their house as a standby, the queue never seemed to go down.

‘Won’t be long before we’re back to normal again,’ said Audrey, optimistically. Her body ached all over from working all hours in the bakehouse and on the shop, but she understood Flo’s frustration. Women had to spend hours waiting in shop queues, and the bakery shop had always been a place where the customers gossiped in relative comfort. ‘Meanwhile, would you like to try the “National Loaf”?’ she asked.

Audrey lifted the dense wheatmeal loaf up for Flo and the rest of the queue to see. The women tutted, turning their noses up at the grey-looking loaf that was gradually being introduced in bakeries across the country, and that Barton’s was obliged to bake.

‘It’s grey!’ called out one customer. ‘And there’s no crust on it at all.’

‘Looks like you could knock someone out with it!’ said Maggie, with a wink.

Audrey grinned at Maggie, who in spite of all she’d suffered – and with George now posted overseas – still managed to bring a smile to work. She was full of admiration for her.

‘Not on your life, Audrey!’ said Flo. ‘Looks like Hitler’s secret weapon to me! White tin and two rolls, please, and you’ll never find me ordering anything else!’

‘Didn’t you say white bread is going to be banned?’ said Elizabeth, who was standing behind Flo.

‘There’s been talk of it,’ said Audrey, thinking of the letter she received from the Ministry of Food saying the matter was being discussed, since there was a shortage of white flour and wheatmeal was better for the nation’s health. ‘But no decision has been made. For the time being, we’re baking as normal, but trying out this wheatmeal or “National Loaf” recipe too.’

‘Can you imagine life without white bread?’ said Flo, paying for her bread. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it? Give me some good news, Audrey, please! Have you heard from that husband of yours? My boys haven’t written in weeks.’

Audrey stood with her hands on her hips, framed by the hatch. Thinking about Charlie, her heart sank. It had been weeks since she’d heard from him too and though she refused to believe the worst, doubts about his safety crept into her head. She opened her mouth to reply to Flo when a young woman, no more than twenty, carrying a baby, appeared in the yard, looking rather lost. Dressed in skirt and blouse, with her mid-brown hair pinned back from her face, she carried the baby in one arm – and with the other hand, she carried a suitcase. All the ladies in the queue stopped gossiping and peered at her.

‘Can I help you?’ Audrey said, inwardly rolling her eyes at the ‘inquisitive’ customers.

‘I’m looking for a convalescent home around here,’ the young woman said. ‘We were sent here by the Invalid Children’s Aid Association, but I seem to have lost the address – I had it written down. A man in the street said you might know where it was?’

Audrey nodded. She’d heard about the convalescent home in Southbourne where women brought their babies who had suffered in the Blitz in London and Bristol. The babies, aged between one and three, had been sent to Bournemouth with their mothers for some rest and recuperation.

‘I can show her the way, Audrey,’ said Flo.

Audrey came out from behind the hatch, with two hot rolls. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked. ‘I’m Audrey Barton. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Christine Johnson,’ said the young woman.

‘Take these,’ Audrey insisted, even though Christine protested. ‘And if you don’t know anyone around here, why don’t you come back and visit us again? My stepsister Lily has a young child. You two might be good companions for one another.’

Christine smiled and, as she turned to leave, bumped into Pat, who was hurrying into the bakery yard, clearly bursting with news.

‘Sorry, dear!’ said Pat, rushing towards Audrey, a lock of grey hair escaped from her hat. ‘Did you hear? About the pilot?’

‘What pilot?’ said Audrey, her mind fretting over the names of all the pilots she knew – the sons, brother and nephews of customers. Scanning the customers’ faces, she felt sure they were all feeling the same nerves.

‘A plane came down off Hengistbury Head during a training exercise last night,’ she replied. ‘The plane landed in the sea and was spotted by a soldier who was on the Head. He jumped into the sea and tried to get to the pilot, who was tangled up in the wreckage. Sadly, the pilot drowned, and when the soldier tried to swim back to the beach, the rip current was so strong and the water so rough and the weather so bad, that he got into terrible trouble. Another man, passing, got into the water and rescued him from drowning.’

‘My goodness!’ said Audrey, accompanied by expressions of intrigue from the other women in the queue.

‘And guess who the man was, who jumped into the sea?’ asked Pat, raising her eyebrows and looking pointedly at Audrey. ‘Arthur, the man who found your wedding ring in his bread.’

Audrey felt a smile burst out onto her face. She lifted her hands to her cheeks, which had turned pink.

‘Perhaps he’s a braver man than I gave him credit for,’ said Pat, sharing a smile with Audrey.