‘Room service,’ said Audrey, knocking three times on William’s door, holding a tray containing a steaming bowl of OXO and a doorstop slice of bread and margarine, since he hadn’t come down for dinner. She knew she probably shouldn’t be indulging him like this, but he was her brother and she had to take care of him. Their estranged mother, Daphne, certainly hadn’t stepped up to the job. Though she’d written to tell her about William’s return – and the injuries he’d suffered – Audrey hadn’t heard a squeak since she had visited before Christmas.

‘Yes?’ William said. ‘Come in.’

Pushing open the door, Audrey tried hard not to let disappointment show on her face when she realised that William was still in his pyjamas, and that he had not even washed or been outside that day at all, since his fire-watching duties the previous night. The skin of the left side of his face, the undamaged side, was almost grey from the lack of sunlight and the light in his blue eyes well and truly extinguished. His hair, normally swept back and held in place with pomade, had flopped down over his forehead and his shoulders were drooping. He looked a sorry state. The air in the bedroom was thick and sour with sleep and, after putting the tray down on the desk, Audrey threw open the window, taking in a gulp of fresh sea air and appreciating the view of the sun setting over the sea, like a giant knob of butter melting into the horizon. Though she’d lived at the bakery for seven years, she knew she could never grow tired of that view and wondered why it seemed to have no effect on William’s spirits.

‘Dinner for you, Lord William,’ she said, trying to be light-hearted. ‘Soup and bread. Had to put your actual dinner in the pigs’ swill bin! We can’t let food go to waste, you know, it’s a criminal offence these days. You’ll get thrown into jail for not being hungry!’

She had hoped for a small smile at least, but there was something different about William’s demeanour. He seemed less defeated than usual, but angrier, as if he was just keeping a lid on a very dark mood. Audrey frowned, wondering what he and Elsie had argued about, hoping it wasn’t too serious.

‘Don’t be like that,’ he said, leaving the food where it was, untouched. ‘I told you I’m not hungry. I meant what I said.’

Audrey sighed and twisted her wedding ring around her finger, registering that rationing and all the rushing around she did had meant she must have lost weight, since it was very slightly looser than normal. As a small boy, William had been so happy-go-lucky. With his mouth harp stuffed into the pocket of his shorts, even then, he’d play a tune to whoever would listen. Growing up in London, he was the mischievous one, scaling lamp posts or playing Knock Down Ginger and always dodging a hiding because of his handsome looks and winning smile. She longed to see a glimmer of that version of her brother again, but how should she find him?

‘You can’t go on like this, William,’ she blurted out, half angry, half sad. ‘I know you’re suffering, but Elsie is suffering too… I thought, when you started to play your harp earlier, your spirits might be lifting, but—’

William glared at her with something like resentment, even dislike, in his eyes, and feeling stung, Audrey immediately stopped talking.

‘I’ve called the engagement off,’ he said, rearranging some papers on the writing desk. ‘It’s over between us.’

Audrey’s hand flew to her throat as she tried to absorb his words. Her heart broke for Elsie – she had become like a sister. They’d shared so much together in the last year and Elsie was one of the family. William couldn’t just cast her aside. Audrey couldn’t hide her fury.

‘You absolute clot,’ she cried. ‘Why would you do anything so senseless?’

William was leaning on the back of his desk chair, but he grabbed his crutches and hobbled over to the drawer in the small bedside table by his bed. He yanked it open, making everything on it wobble, and pulled out a letter, from which fell a photograph.

Audrey bent down to pick up the photograph, her heart sinking when she saw the image of Elsie with Jimmy, the pilot officer who had invited her to a Christmas party for evacuees last December. Jimmy had draped his arm over her shoulder, and Elsie was smiling, radiantly. Mary stood between the two of them, holding a Christmas parcel. Audrey knew what William was thinking, but this was just one fleeting moment in time. One moment during months and months of him being away. Her eyes flicked up from the photograph to William, who was staring at her, accusingly.

‘Did you know about this?’ he said, his voice wavering. ‘Did you know they were courting, while I was away?’

Audrey shook her head in despair. ‘Elsie hasn’t been courting anyone but you,’ she said quietly. ‘Where did you get this letter?’

‘I found it in her things,’ he said, not meeting Audrey’s eye. ‘I saw the photograph and the words “thanks for the memory” on the back, whatever that means! What does that say about her feelings for me? I—’

Audrey held up a hand and interrupted: ‘It says nothing about her feelings for you—’

But William spoke over her: ‘And I was perfectly right in thinking that I shouldn’t have come home,’ he said. ‘I knew Elsie would want to move on with another man, and now she feels trapped with me covered in ugly scars and hobbling around without my foot! What use am I to her? Perhaps I should write to this Jimmy myself on her behalf? Perhaps then she’ll have a chance of happiness and be rid of me once and for all? At any rate, it’s clear that it’s not me she wants.’

Audrey’s eyes darkened. Wanting to grab her brother by the shoulders and give him a good shaking, she felt dismayed. She would not listen to him talk himself into this knotted, muddled-up way of thinking.

‘Don’t say such daft things!’ she cried. ‘Elsie loves you. She’s been as loyal as any girl could be. She went to a party with this chap out of goodness. Bournemouth was heaving with military personnel looking for a companion last Christmas, most of them away from their homes and families. He met her on the bus route she worked, I believe, and he invited her along to a party for the child evacuees, that’s all. It doesn’t mean a thing. She took Mary to that party and came home early because Mary sprained her ankle when she was dancing. I remember it was the same night that Lily went into labour. I can’t speak for that pilot, but I know Elsie thought nothing more about it. I’m surprised at you, William, jumping to such conclusions about a girl like Elsie.’

‘But look at her eyes,’ he said, staring down at the photograph, his own eyes firing. ‘They’re full of life and laughter. When she looks at me now, all I can see is pity. She feels sorry for me, doesn’t she? Who wants their sweetheart to pity them? What can I give her?’

‘Everything,’ Audrey said. ‘Love is everything.’

William sat down on the bed and hung his head.

Impatient with his self-pity, Audrey went to leave, but before doing so, turned back to face him. He had laid down on the bed, his head on the pillow, weary with the world.

‘On your wedding day last year, when you didn’t turn up to the church without even offering an explanation, Elsie’s heart was truly broken,’ she said steadily. ‘She thought perhaps you didn’t love her, but she remained loyal to the hope that you would return. Hope was all she had. For the last six months, since you’ve been home, you’ve barely shown her any love or affection, despite her visiting you here almost every day after her shifts on the buses. Blaming her and treating her with suspicion says nothing about the way she’s behaved, but a great deal about the man you seem to have become. I know what our father would have said to you.’

‘What?’ said William, his eyes blazing. Audrey had stepped over the line – there was an unwritten code between them never to use their dead father’s name in an argument like this, but he had pushed her too far.

‘Stop shilly-shallying around,’ she said. ‘And, for goodness’ sake, act like a man.’

Leaving the room and closing the door behind her, Audrey stood in the hallway for a moment and held her hand on her heart. It was thudding like a bass drum in her chest.

---

‘You’re the only sane person around here,’ said Audrey to Uncle John late that evening when he was shifting a twenty-stone bag of flour from one side of the bakehouse to another, as if it was as light as a feather. She raised her eyebrows at John’s strength; four decades of bending over a trough, hand-mixing the dough and lifting flour sacks had made the man as strong as the carthorses that ploughed the fields.

‘If that’s the case, things must be bad,’ he laughed, facing her and winking, before he collected up the pale dough that had spilled over the trough, like lava from a volcano, pushing it back in and knocking it to prove up again. In another few hours, he would weigh off the dough, mould it up, and prove it again, ready to bake and fill the shop and neighbourhood with the irresistibly comforting smell of fresh bread. He moved with ease and was such a natural, he could probably bake in his sleep. ‘Perfect,’ he said, smiling at her, standing with his hands on his waist.

She smiled back, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. Uncle John had stepped up when Charlie left, to take on the baking, and he had not let her down. In his white overalls, which he kept spotlessly clean, he had the highest standards. He kept all the utensils clean, diligently whitewashed the walls, always mixed and prepared the dough by hand and on time, and took the baked loaves and rolls out of the oven at the same time every day, like clockwork, ready for delivery and the customers. He took the baking life in his stride – the yeast going bananas in the July heat; a telegram from the Ministry of Food explaining that calcium was to be added to flour to combat the epidemic of rickets the Land Girls were suffering. He even cooked the neighbours’ roasts in the bakery oven on a Sunday morning, just as Charlie had done, to help save the neighbourhood’s already rationed fuel. Charlie had learned most of all he knew from John and Audrey held him in high regard.

‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything you’ve done for the bakery,’ she said. ‘Since Charlie left, I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

Feeling a little embarrassed, for she knew John didn’t like fuss, she looked down at her fingers, which were stained red from sorting redcurrants, strawberries and gooseberries, ready for jam making and bottling.

John gave a gentle laugh and shook his head to indicate that her thanks were unnecessary. ‘There’s a lot of tradespeople on the lookout for customers these days,’ he said. ‘I promised Charlie I wouldn’t let the Barton standards drop and I won’t. Besides, I’m happy as a pig in mud here. There’s nowhere I’d rather be, apart from maybe fishing for roach in the River Stour.’ He grinned at her, before continuing: ‘I’m too old to join up, but I can do my bit here.’

‘You’re a trooper, John,’ said Audrey. ‘Thank you.’

With his index and middle finger, he made the ‘V for Victory’ sign that Winston Churchill had been photographed making in the paper and now everyone was chalking or painting on walls, or tapping out in Morse code – three dots and a dash.

‘The V sign is the symbol… of the unconquerable will… of the occupied territories… and oh, my old brain is goin’,’ said John, imitating Churchill’s voice and repeating part of a speech he’d recently made on the wireless. ‘Summat like that anyhow.’

Audrey laughed and John doffed his cap, which fell to the floor. He bent over to pick it up and when he stood back up straight, she noticed his breathing was wheezy. She frowned while he stopped to catch his breath, but then he started coughing. He spluttered and coughed for a good minute, with Audrey patting his back, before he returned to normal, his face bright red and clammy.

‘That cough has been getting worse since this time last year,’ Audrey said, shaking her head. ‘You need to get it seen to. Are you even taking anything for it? I’ve got some blackberry syrup upstairs.’

‘Port wine and brandy is my medicine,’ he said, spluttering. ‘It’s nothin’ but a bit of flour in m’ throat.’

‘That may be, but it needs seeing to,’ she said. ‘It worries me. Pat told me you’re hiding it from me.’

John shook his head, rolling his eyes at the mention of his sister, Charlie’s mother, Pat. A tireless volunteer for the WVS, when she wasn’t involved in the local ‘meat pie scheme’, cycling meat pies to the Land Girls working in the surrounding villages and fields, she was running knitting and clothes mending groups, or boiling up a sheep’s head to make a stew. She was a remarkable woman, but she did have her finger – and nose – in every pie.

‘Trust her to be makin’ a meal out of my ailments,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about, love. Speakin’ of worrying matters though, how’s that brother of yours? I saw him heading out for fire-watching duties not half-hour ago, but he barely grunted at me. I know it ain’t easy for him with his injuries, but it looks like he’s got the weight of the world bearin’ down on his young shoulders.’

Uncle John shook his head and Audrey sighed, folding her arms across her chest. She thought of poor Elsie and the words she’d had with William earlier. She regretted being so short with him, but felt increasingly infuriated by his behaviour.

‘He’s not well,’ she said. ‘It’s like he’s gone into himself. All he can see is darkness. He’s gone and broken off his engagement to Elsie too.’

‘He never has!’ said John. ‘Get ’im to come down here tomorrow. The boy can ’elp me.’

‘But it’s his foot, he’s…’ Audrey started. ‘I don’t know if he’s able to…’

‘He’s got two working arms, ain’t ’e?’ John said. ‘He doesn’t need two feet to ’elp me out. I’ve known men more injured than ’im in the Great War get back on their feet without complainin’. In my mind, that boy needs less sympathy and more orders.’

‘I’ll speak to him,’ said Audrey, privately dreading the conversation.

John returned to work, while Audrey lingered. It was these hours, late on, when the rest of the bakery slept but there was still so much to do, that she missed Charlie the most. They’d always done their talking, debating and deciding in the bakehouse while he worked on the bread. He seemed to think more clearly when he was busy working with his hands. She felt the same when she was mixing the ingredients for a cake or the counter goods – the methodical process helped her think straight.

‘What else is on your mind, my girl?’ said John. ‘I can tell there’s somethin’.’

Audrey thought about telling him about her fears for Lily and how she was coping with motherhood, but decided against it. Going by his advice for how to deal with William, he wouldn’t have a lot of sympathy for Lily.

‘I’m all right, John,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘I’m still getting no end of orders for wedding cakes from young couples getting wed while their sweethearts are home on leave. How they’ll make their marriages work, I don’t know; they’ll spend more time apart than they will together.’

‘Absence makes the ’eart grow fonder,’ said John. ‘Or so I’ve ’eard.’

‘I’m having to make the dried fruit spread very thinly now,’ Audrey mused, thinking of the dwindling supplies in the storeroom. ‘Course, I can’t ice the celebration cakes anymore since icing is banned and I’m using the plaster of Paris cake covers, but folk still want a delicious cake inside, don’t they? I thought we had more raisins and a box of glacé cherries in the storeroom, but I can’t see them anywhere. I’ve lost track of a bag of sugar too, and I’m panicking since every spillage, wastage or lost item has to be recorded and reported to the Ministry. You haven’t moved anything in store, have you?’

John shook his head and stopped what he was doing. ‘Nobody’s pilferin’, are they?’ he said. ‘None of the delivery boys got their ’ands in the stocks?’

She shook her head, confused, trying to imagine anyone at the bakery taking ingredients. Nobody would do that. Perhaps she had misplaced them; her mind was overflowing these days.

‘Maybe you put ’em somewhere else,’ John said. ‘Remember, we got that leaflet about what to do in an invasion a few weeks back? “Hide the sugar” was on that list. Maybe you took heed and hid it! There’ll be an explanation. Only someone downright desperate or stupid would steal from the ’and that feeds ’em.’