The kettle steamed on the range, as Audrey made sure the kitchen was gleaming, before preparing a late-night hot drink for William and John. Her pocket watch told her it was 11.20 p.m., and time to put down the blackout blinds, as listed in the Echo, but to Audrey, it felt more like 2 a.m. Suppressing another yawn, she made two mugs of OXO and took them, on a small wooden tray, into the bakehouse for the men.

‘They were saying earlier on the wireless that there were hundreds of bombers over Germany last night,’ she said, setting down the tray in the warm, floury room and yawning once more. ‘Berlin, Boulogne and Kiel felt the brunt of it. Doesn’t bear thinking of, really, and it makes me worry for Charlie.’

‘Get to bed, young lady,’ said John sternly. ‘If I know Charlie, he’ll be all right. Shop’s open again tomorrow and that’s what you should be concentrating on, not what Bomber Command are up to.’

Audrey rubbed her eyes and shrugged, rather put out by John’s dismissive comments, and said goodnight to the men. He was a kind, fair and hardworking man, was John, but he had absolutely no time for fretting.

Alone in her bedroom, she opened the envelope she kept under Charlie’s pillow and, by candlelight, read the last letter he had sent her, weeks ago now. It was only a few lines long, but included a dried stem of a little blue flower he’d picked. Holding the delicate bloom in her fingertips, she tried to conjure up an image of him, smiling and laughing, in her mind. Whispering goodnight to him into the empty room, placing the envelope safely under her pillow, she blew out the candle and lay in the dark, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to quieten her thoughts.

Hearing the drone of distant aircraft, she suddenly felt incredibly alone. John might be able to see the German people as the enemy, but Audrey couldn’t help but think of the ordinary people, just like her, trying to go about running their homes and businesses but whose lives were being turned upside down by the RAF. Women and children, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, would be yet more victims of this war. There but for the grace of God go I. On the other hand, she’d heard stories of the German army burning down villages in Crete, murdering old people and children in their beds and forcing others to dig their own graves before executing them.

Sighing in dismay, Audrey pulled the eiderdown over her head and curled up. She must make sure, she thought, as her head whirred, that in the shop at least, she brought a little joy into her customers’ daily lives. Warm bread, cakes, bakes and a smile… that much she could do. There was so much wild fruit this year, particularly blackberries and crab apples, she thought, before falling into a deep sleep, that she should make fruit loaves and fruit buns. The scent of them baking would be enough to raise people’s spirits…

---

Hours later, when John was working alone in the bakehouse, knocking back dough ready to be baked in the hot ovens, and the neighbourhood was silent apart from a fox skulking through the vegetable patches, Audrey’s heavy sleep was disturbed by the warmth of a familiar body climbing into the bed beside her. In the thick of a dream, she sleepily opened her eyes to see Charlie’s face, opposite her, in the dim light.

Suddenly wide awake and sitting bolt upright, her heart racing, she reached out her hands to cup his face, to make sure she wasn’t imagining him. ‘Charlie!’ she said, incredulous. ‘Charlie, is that really you?’

Heart pounding and body trembling, she wept with joy when Charlie gently embraced her, his body melting into hers. She held him tightly in her arms, resting her cheek against his. Blinking in the darkness, she felt relief and love wash over her.

‘I’ve got three days’ leave,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t have a chance to write.’

They lay back down together in the darkness, unspeaking, but facing one another under the cover, just breathing in each other’s scent and warmth, knees and toes touching. As time passed, they moved closer and explored one another’s bodies, gently making love in the darkness, forgetting everything and everyone else and eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms.

When Audrey woke with a start at dawn, looking across the bed to Charlie’s side to find it empty, she wondered if she’d dreamt the whole thing but then she saw his kitbag on the floor beside the bed, draped over with his uniform. Straining to hear the sound of voices in the bakehouse, Audrey’s heart leapt. It wasn’t a dream – Charlie had come home.

Springing out of bed and skidding on the floorboards as she did, she dressed quickly and ran down the stairs to see him again with her own eyes. In the light of dawn and working the ovens, he looked exhausted and much thinner than he had when he’d left eight months before.

‘Found this fella inspectin’ my bread,’ said John, with a laugh.

Audrey grinned and, hiding her shock at Charlie’s undernourished appearance, she ran towards him, suddenly feeling foolish and shy, but he welcomed her with open arms. ‘I’ve missed you, Charlie,’ she said. ‘We’ve all missed him, haven’t we, John? So much has happened. To you too, no doubt.’

Charlie nodded. ‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ he said, swinging round to shovel a tray of bread tins into the oven. ‘I heard the sorry news about Maggie’s sister, poor girl. And John tells me the bakery took a hit, but you’ve got the place up and running again. Must have been ’ard work. I’ve never felt so proud of you, Audrey, I ’ave to say.’

Audrey felt suddenly overcome with emotion. The months of missing Charlie and the strain of the bakery’s repairs suddenly gripped her. Unable to speak for a moment, she gestured towards the bakery shop, and staggered into the corridor, where, leaning with her back against the wall, she gathered herself. She couldn’t start crying on Charlie’s shoulders. If those news reports on Crete were anything to go by, he would have witnessed horrors more terrible than she could possibly imagine. Only last night she was thinking that she had to work her hardest to lift people’s spirits – and that would start with her own husband. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the store cupboard and checked various boxes until she found a string of bunting once used for a birthday celebration and took it out to the front of the shop, where she strung it over the window.

‘Have we won the war or summat?’ said Flo, arriving at the bakery for her bread.

Audrey smiled and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But the bakery shop’s back open today and my Charlie’s home on leave for three days. That’s reason enough to get the bunting out in my book!’

She couldn’t stop herself from beaming.

Flo pursed her lips and took a sharp intake of breath. ‘There’ll be those not so eager to celebrate your good fortune,’ she said. ‘Some husbands never come back, you know, Audrey.’

Pausing from hanging up the bunting, Audrey ignored Flo and privately rolled her eyes. ‘Put a sock in it, why don’t you?’ she muttered. ‘I’m celebrating and that’s that!’

---

The day went quickly and cheerfully, with customers and neighbours keen to welcome Charlie home and shake his hand. Dressed to bake, wearing his long white apron and hat, a flour-covered Charlie quickly had his nose in the order and ledger book, the ingredients supply and paperwork from the Ministry of Food and the Bournemouth Food Office. He repaired a door handle that had broken, patched up a gap in the side of the Anderson shelter and strengthened the bunks, and had gone for a very quick ale at the Carpenter’s Arms with John and William to congratulate William on his upcoming wedding. He squeezed a lot into a few hours and by the end of the day, he was quiet and tired, but didn’t want to sit down and stop working.

When Audrey finally convinced him to sit down at the kitchen table, for a corned beef sandwich and a cup of tea, she couldn’t decide whether or not to broach the military action he’d seen overseas. Knowing Charlie, he wouldn’t want to talk about it, but she had to let him know she cared. Placing a hand over his and squeezing it gently, she just came out with it.

‘Charlie,’ she said, ‘no words seem right. How’s it been in the army? Are you… okay?’

Charlie rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands as if it were too heavy to stay upright on its own. He smiled a small sad smile at his wife. Written across his face she saw a myriad of emotions: fear, anger, regret, bewilderment, resignation.

‘I hope you will understand when I say I never want to talk about the war at home,’ he said. ‘I’m a man of few words, you know that better than anyone, but I don’t have the words to explain or make sense of what I’ve experienced. The one thing I can say is that this is not just a war of brute force, but also psychological. I’m trying, with everything I have, not to let my mind be crushed. Am I making any sense, love?’

After a long pause, where Audrey floundered for an answer, she nodded. ‘If that’s how you want it to be,’ she said, ‘then I respect that. As long as you know that I’m willing and able to share your troubles, if you want me to.’

She stood up from the table and put their dirty plates in the sink, where the dishwater had grown cold and grey.

‘I don’t know what this country would do without women like you,’ said Charlie. ‘You’re a good woman.’

She smiled at Charlie and, dunking her hands in the water, decided to broach the subject of Mary – and the possibility of adopting her.

‘I’m in agreement, if it’s possible,’ said Charlie, once Audrey had explained the situation. ‘Though I don’t know what will happen to me in the future. The responsibility might well fall on your shoulders, love.’

Audrey frowned. She knew he was talking about his own life and the danger he was in, but she refused to think the worst could happen. After the war, she told herself, Charlie, Mary and herself could be a family.

‘I still hope that one day we will have a child of our own,’ said Charlie, reading her mind. ‘It’s a lot of work for you, Audrey, taking on a stranger’s child. Mary’s a sweet girl, but she’s not our own flesh and blood… I have to be honest and admit that I dream of having a son to follow in my footsteps. A boy with baking in his blood.’

Rolling her eyes, affectionately, Audrey let Charlie dream about the son he’d always wanted, but deep down, she feared she would never fall pregnant and that adopting Mary was the closest they would ever get to being parents. Besides, she loved little Mary with all her heart. Charlie would come to accept that and love her just as much in time too.

---

Clutching the ankle of her precious but tatty porcelain and cloth doll in one hand, its hair skimming the floorboards as it hung upside down, Mary stood outside the kitchen door, hardly daring to breathe.

She’d heard every word Charlie had said with such clarity – it was as if he had been shouting through a megaphone. Involuntarily, as she stared at the closed dark brown door, Mary’s teeth chattered, despite it being a warm night and being dressed in a warm nightgown. Thoughts of her dead brother, Edward, her mother and father besieged her. Was Audrey now going to desert her too? Charlie’s words repeated in her mind: It’s a lot of work for you, Audrey, taking on a stranger’s child. Mary’s a sweet girl, but she’s not our own flesh and blood… I dream of having a son to follow in my footsteps. A boy with baking in his blood.

Moving her hand to the doorknob, the blood drained from her face as she felt warm liquid on her leg and noticed a small puddle on the floor, near her right foot. Blazing with embarrassment as she chastised herself for not realising she needed the privy, she quickly found some sheets of newspaper from the table in the corridor and mopped up the mess.

‘Stupid Mary!’ she hissed to herself, freezing when she heard noises in the kitchen.

‘Mary?’ she heard Audrey’s voice from within the kitchen. ‘Is that you out there?’

A big part of her wanted to burst into the kitchen and rush into Audrey’s arms, which were always warm and welcoming and topped with her smiling face, but the other part of her knew she should make a plan. Charlie didn’t want Mary. He wanted a son, born with baking in his blood – not one that had blown in from the slum district of London like a discarded paper bag.

Whispering her dead brother’s name, Edward, Mary tried to conjure him up, right there and then in the corridor, and for a second, she thought she saw a ghostly movement in the shadows. Sometimes she felt she saw him, and those sightings always made her feel better. He would come with her, wherever she had to go next. He would help guide her when she had packed up her bag, collected her rabbit and stole away from the bakery. A tremor ran through her when the door opened and the light from the kitchen spilled into the corridor, illuminating Audrey.

‘Mary, sweetheart, can’t you sleep?’ said Audrey, resting her hands on her shoulders.

The little girl gazed up at Audrey and shook her head, scrunching the damp newspaper up behind her. Audrey’s eyes skittered from floor to newspaper, and Mary crossed her fingers in the hope that she hadn’t noticed the accident.

‘Never mind,’ was all Audrey said, holding her hand and leading her up to bed, before tucking her in. ‘Chin up,’ she said, as always, and Mary lifted her chin. ‘Chin down,’ she said, neatly tucking the sheet under her chin.

I’ll miss this, thought Mary, as her heart ached with thinking about what she would do next. She closed her eyes tightly, wondering if she could survive a whole night all by herself. Those babies in the convalescent home had managed it, she thought, so she could too.