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home soon; home and safe. Come on, let’s get you out of this rain.’ Margot didn’t argue. She let her father take her by the arm and steer her to the tunnel leading from the platform to the road. Protected between her father and her sister, she left the station, followed by her adoring husband.

‘Your mother’s looking forward to seeing you.’

‘She’d have come,’ Bess said, ‘but there wasn’t room in the car. She’s made stew and dumplings.’

‘Don’t ask where she got the meat,’ Thomas said, winking at Bill. ‘There’s enough to feed an army, so I hope you’re hungry.’

‘I haven’t got much of an appetite, but I’m sure I’ll manage something.’

Holding Bill’s hand in the back of the car, Margot gazed out of the window at the familiar landmarks: the churches, houses, and farms. The countryside was not so familiar. As far as the eye could see, land which only a few years ago had been pastures where sheep and cattle grazed had been ploughed. Inhabited now by scarecrows and haystacks, the lush green meadows that Margot remembered were furrows of brown soil.

Having driven though several small villages between Rugby and Lowarth, the River Swift and The Fox Inn public house came into view. ‘Next stop Foxden,’ Bess said, turning right onto the Woodcote Road. ‘You won’t recognise the estate, Margaret. I’ll show you round as soon as your ankle’s up to it. You’ll love the land girls. They work really hard, but they have fun too. Mrs Hartley’s looking forward to seeing you. Oh look, Margaret!’ Bess shouted. ‘Look out of Bill’s window and you’ll see the land girls working.’

Margot leaned across Bill. ‘Good Lord. The meadow’s gone. It’s--’

‘Hay. It’s the last to be harvested. You should see the rest of the estate. It’s all arable land.’

‘Even the meadow where Mam used to send us to pick mushrooms?’

‘Yes, it’s potatoes now.’ Bess laughed. ‘If you’re still here in November you can go up there and do some potato picking.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Margot whispered into Bill’s ear, before nibbling it.

‘Shush,’ he said, doing his best not to laugh.

She hadn’t eaten properly for weeks but she didn’t want to upset her mother, or cause an argument, so Margot made an effort. She ate a small bowl of stew and a slice of bread – and felt better for it. When they’d finished eating, Bess cleared the table with her mother and took the dishes into the kitchen.

‘I’ll take the cases up, Dad,’ Bill said. ‘Which room are we in?’

‘The girls’ room. Claire’s been seconded to some sort of special RAF task force because of her languages. She’ll not be home on leave while Margaret’s here or she’d have let us know. And Ena’s gone into Tom’s room.’ The creases on Thomas Dudley’s forehead deepened. He looked worried. ‘Tell you the truth we don’t know where Claire is, and the last letter we had from Tom, he said he was going overseas.’

When Bill left the room, Margot put her feet up on the old settee in front of the fire, leant her head on the arm and stared into the flames. Her eyes filled with tears.

‘Hey now,’ her father said, ‘what’s all this?’

‘I can’t stop crying, Dad. I keep seeing Bert, the stage doorman, lying in the road. And then I look up and I see Nancy in the black cab. She looked as if she was awake, because her eyes--’ Margot wiped away her tears. ‘I keep wondering if she knew what was happening, if she felt anything. Bill said she wouldn’t have, that she was killed outright, but how can he know?’

Thomas Dudley lifted his daughter’s legs, sat down beside her, and put them on his lap. ‘From what Bill told me, your friend--’ Margot’s father stopped speaking and cleared his throat. Then he nodded as if he had found the right words. ‘The first piece of masonry that fell on the cab would have killed your friend. And because she couldn’t have seen it falling, she wouldn’t have known anything about it, Margaret.’

Margot looked up and searched her father’s face. Looking into his eyes, she held his gaze. His face was kind and honest. ‘Thank you, Dad.’ She knew her father wasn’t just saying it to ease her pain. He was telling her the truth. Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I’m tired now, Dad, but one day I’ll tell you all about Nancy. You’d have loved her. Everybody loved Nancy,’ she said, closing her eyes.

Thomas Dudley took a handkerchief from his pocket and dried Margot’s face. ‘Why don’t you go up and have a lie down?’ he whispered.

‘What about Mam? What will she think if I’m not here when she and Bess come through?’

‘She won’t mind. I’ll tell her you’re tired. Do you want me to help you up the stairs?’ Margot shook her head. ‘You go up then,’ he said, lifting her legs from his lap. ‘I’ll be here when you’ve had a rest. I’ve taken a couple of days off. We can go for some gentle walks. Strengthen your legs and put some apples back in those beautiful cheeks.’ He helped her to her feet.

Margot limped across the room. At the door she turned, and with great almond-shaped tears in her eyes she said, ‘Thank you, Dad.’ Her father smiled, but Margot could see in his eyes that he was worried; that he was hurting because he couldn’t take away her pain. Only time could do that. ‘Thank you, Dad,’ she said again, and left.

‘I’m bored, Bess,’ Margot said.

‘Come up to the Hall, then. I’ll give you so much work you’ll never be bored again.’ Margot didn’t reply. ‘What about it?’

‘I don’t know…. I’ll see how I feel. Perhaps I’ll come up later.’

‘Right. I’m off.’

‘Do you really have to go?’ Margot whined. ‘The harvest’s in. What else

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