The telegram came at 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Audrey was in the kitchen chopping up rashers of fat bacon to add to onion, mint, sage, parsley, mushrooms and breadcrumbs to make the Christmas stuffing. At the table, Mary adorned bunches of pine cones and holly with ribbons and paper stars, making decorations for the Christmas table and mantelpiece. Above the fireplace was a string pegged with one of Charlie’s old woollen socks, ready, Audrey told a wide-eyed Mary, for Father Christmas to leave his gifts.

‘Can you get that please, Charlie?’ Audrey said, when the telegram boy from the Exchange knocked. ‘My hands are full of mixture in here.’

Since Joy had been born ten days earlier and in the run-up to Christmas, Audrey had been rushed off her feet – and glad of it too. The less time she had to think, the less time she had to ponder Charlie’s decision to try again to join up. There was no end to hard work in a bakery and perhaps it would have been difficult to juggle the shop with the needs of a new baby.

Though the other shops on the street would be closed on Christmas Day, Barton’s would still deliver the traditional mince pies and bread on Christmas morning, as well as cooking the neighbours’ roasts in the bakery ovens while they were still hot.

‘Those are pretty, Mary,’ Audrey said encouragingly, half-listening to the exchange between Charlie and the telegram boy. Waiting while Charlie read the telegram downstairs, Audrey’s heart raced. Could it be William?

Charlie seemed to be taking forever to come up the stairs. Losing patience, Audrey wiped her hands on the tea towel and called down, ‘What was it, love?’

There was no reply. Instead, Charlie cleared his throat and then walked slowly up the stairs to the kitchen. The suspense was killing Audrey and she felt weak-kneed, imagining Charlie was going to give her the most awful news. He opened the kitchen door, his face even paler than usual. She raised her eyebrows anxiously and ran over to him.

‘Is it William?’ she said quietly, reading Charlie’s sombre expression. ‘Charlie, please, tell me?’

‘No, love,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s not about William. It’s… nothing.’

Audrey’s shoulders dropped an inch as relief washed over her. ‘It must be something,’ she said, with a quizzical smile. ‘Why are you not telling me?’

Charlie shook his head. ‘It’s about the coal delivery,’ he mumbled, eyes scanning the decorations Mary was working on. He leaned against the table and patted her head. ‘Mary, you’ve done a grand job of these. Hasn’t she, Audrey?’

Mary looked up at Charlie with huge brown eyes, a smile creeping across her face.

Audrey frowned, as Charlie was clearly hiding something, but decided he would no doubt tell her later if there was a problem. Besides, she had so much to organise before tomorrow, she had to get on and concentrate.

‘Try one of these,’ said Audrey, surreptitiously passing him one of the cinnamon twist sweets that she’d made for Mary’s stocking. ‘They’re for a certain someone.’

Charlie pushed it into his mouth and winked. ‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Right, I better get on.’ Before he left the room, he turned to Audrey, put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. ‘Thank you,’ he said, gesturing at the table. ‘For all this. I’m sorry that things didn’t work out, y’ know, with Joy an’ that.’

Charlie’s eyes were shining, the way they did on the rare occasion he had a few beers.

‘You daft beggar,’ she said, smiling an uncertain smile, a confused crease erupting on her brow.

---

Lily was in a bubble of love. Despite the fact that this was the second Christmas of the war and that the raids continued with a vengeance, with Joy in her arms Lily felt strangely secure, as if somehow protected from the ordeals of war. Walking into the cosy, warm kitchen to find Audrey cooking and Mary crafting only served to strengthen that bubble feeling. Carrying Joy in her arms, who was dressed in a white gown, pink baby slippers and a matinee jacket knitted by Pat, a wispy red cowlick sticking up in the air, it was almost possible to forget the burning cities, destroyed homes and devastated lives. Almost.

‘It smells delicious in here,’ she said, taking a seat by the fire. ‘Can I do anything to help?’

Whenever she saw Joy, Audrey’s face broke into an enormous smile. Though Lily felt guilty and awkward for her sudden change of heart, she was sure that Audrey understood and that there was no ill feeling between them.

‘No Lily,’ Audrey said. ‘It’s not yet been two weeks since you had Joy. Please rest. You’ll never get these precious early days back and you’ll be rushed off your feet before you know it. Mary, do you want to leave your pine cones and sit with Lily and the baby by the fire?’

Mary nodded and smiled. Though she had been pale and puny when she arrived at the bakery, she now had roses in her cheeks and a little more meat on her bones.

‘You can hold her if you like?’ said Lily. ‘I know she likes you.’

‘Yes please,’ Mary said in a faint voice. Now saying a few words, Mary was still yet to use her lungs at full capacity.

‘You sit here,’ said Lily, getting up and indicating for Mary to sit in the chair. ‘And put your arms like this, that’s it, protect her head because they’ve no strength in their neck when they’re this tiny. Well done, Mary. Look, you’re a natural.’

Lily gently laid Joy in Mary’s arms and watched as Mary stared at the baby’s tiny features. Glancing at Audrey, she worried for a moment that it might trigger sadness about her brother, but Audrey smiled reassuringly.

‘I’m going to write to my father,’ said Lily, taking a seat at the kitchen table, leaning her elbows on the surface and resting her chin in her hands. ‘I know after everything he said to you and in his letter that he might not want to hear from me, but having Joy has made me think about what’s important. I need him to meet her and once he has, I know he will fall in love with her. There’s nothing I would like more than for him to accept her into his life.’

‘I know,’ said Audrey sympathetically. ‘But he’s a stubborn man, with a rulebook a mile long.’

‘He can’t always have his way,’ Lily stated. ‘That’s what my mother would have said. She was a redhead too. It’s true what they say, you know: “the redder the hair, the hotter the temper”.’

‘Oh Lily,’ Audrey laughed. ‘You’re one of a kind.’

‘Not any more,’ said Lily, gently lifting Joy from Mary’s lap and smiling. ‘There are two of us now.’

---

On the other side of town Elsie shivered in the freezing fog. The biting wind that ruffled the surface of the sea as it swept over the Channel turned the lips of the men guarding the beaches blue, and kept most people in their homes roasting chestnuts, trying to be festive, despite missing their loved ones in the Forces. Blowing hot breath on her frozen fingertips, Elsie was doing the final shift on the buses, delivering workers and revellers home to their beds. As the bus crawled through Bournemouth centre, she was struck by how unfestive the town looked in comparison to previous years. There were posters advertising the Christmas pantomime, and there were festive window displays in some of the shops, but they were not lit up and obscured by bombproof tape.

She thought about William and where he might be this Christmas Eve, her anxiety slightly assuaged by the fact that many others she knew hadn’t heard from their loved ones in weeks or months. But how she longed for another letter, even if it was just as terse as last time – at least she would know he was still alive. Be grateful for small mercies.

Her thoughts of William were briefly interrupted by a memory of Jimmy. She wondered if he was still in Bournemouth or whether he had already been posted overseas. Thanks for the memory. A smile appeared on her lips as she remembered his kind words that meant so much in wartime. The smile was followed by a feeling of regret. Jimmy was a good man and she had been unfair to him, blaming him for Rita’s cruel tongue. Releasing a sigh that could blow away clouds, she rolled her neck to straighten out the cricks.

‘What’s Father Christmas bringing you, love?’ Barry, the driver, asked when they pulled into the bus depot.

‘A new house would be nice as ours was bombed out,’ she joked. ‘My dad and fiancé home would be even better. How about you?’

‘Tea and sugar rations are up for Christmas week, so I’ll be having two cups tomorrow instead of the usual one. That and listen to the King on the wireless. That’ll be enough of a celebration for me.’

‘You can do better than that,’ said Elsie, pulling out the sandwich Audrey had made her earlier. ‘Look here, it’s not much of a gift, but you can have my sandwiches. They’re festive ones: cream cheese spread over with redcurrant jelly. I’ve no appetite today.’

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Barry, taking one and stuffing it in his mouth. ‘Right then, mind how you go, Elsie love, and Happy Christmas, if there is such a thing in wartime.’

‘Happy Christmas,’ she said.

Elsie cycled back to Southbourne through the dark, foggy streets, her eyes streaming in the icy cold. There were none of the usual festive, homely scenes in the windows of the family houses she passed. The blackout blinds were down and fearful of a Christmas raid; many people had hung their decorations in their shelters. Elsie arrived at the bakery to find Audrey and Lily sitting in front of the fire in the kitchen, Lily with tiny Joy in her arms, Audrey sewing a pair of felt slippers for Mary’s stocking.

‘You must be frozen, Elsie,’ said Audrey, standing up and welcoming her with a warm hug. ‘There’s hot rum punch on the stove. You look like you need one. Put this shawl round your shoulders too.’

The three women settled by the fire and sat in silence listening to the crackle and spit of the flames.

‘I’ve made some sweets for the twins,’ Audrey said, handing Elsie a paper bag of cinnamon drops she’d made with sugar, cinnamon and water and wrapped in twists of paper. ‘Are they still coming for their dinner tomorrow?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Elsie, feeling deeply grateful that Audrey had welcomed her family into bakery life, as if they were her own. ‘I’ll go to Pat’s in the morning to see my sisters and mother. It’ll be difficult without Papa there of course.’

Audrey rested her hand on Elsie’s shoulder, giving it a gentle sympathetic squeeze.

‘I can’t stop thinking about William,’ Elsie went on to say, choking back tears. She had become well-practised at emotionally detaching herself from the painful desire to see William, but now it was Christmas Eve, Elsie’s heart threatened to break if she didn’t hear from him soon.

‘I hope he gets the parcel we sent,’ said Audrey. ‘That fruit cake should give him a taste of home.’

Home. As the hot rum and fireside seat warmed up Elsie, her mind drifted to Christmases past. Christmases at home with her family, with her papa wearing crazy hats and singing carols in a silly voice, making his girls laugh until their bellies ached. But with their house still in ruins, her father a prisoner of war, her fiancé disappeared, her mother and sisters staying with Pat, this Christmas would be very different indeed. The war had displaced her family, like so many others across the world. Home, as she had always known and loved it, may have changed this year, but Audrey had welcomed Elsie with open arms. And for that, she thought as her eyes started to close in the warmth of Audrey’s kitchen, she was truly grateful.