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She went to the kitchen, where she fetched a glass of water. As she sat sipping it and musing, she came to a conclusion. ‘Right! I’ve had enough of his hands all over me, ordering me around: “Do this” … “Get me that.”’ She mocked him to perfection. ‘… And if he never kisses me again, it’ll be too soon!’

It took all of two minutes for her to sneak into the bedroom, collect her clothes and sneak out again. Five minutes later she was ready to leave. One last peep at his sleeping figure on her side of the bed and she was tiptoeing out of there, to the merry tune of his snoring. ‘Sleep well, you bugger!’ As she went, she deliberately slammed shut the door.

Having got up early, shaved and dressed and ready for off, Tom saw the young woman from his window. She was hatless, her shoulder-length brown hair flying out behind her. He watched as she bounced along with a spring to her step; he saw her deliberately stride out into a busy street and hail a taxi-cab, the traffic swerving round her. When, in order to avoid hitting her full on, the driver of the black cab screeched to a halt, she calmly climbed aboard and waved him on.

Tom laughed out loud. ‘That’s what you call a gutsy woman!’

Just then the telephone rang; it was his brother Dougie. ‘Just checking you got back all right,’ he said.

‘Got back … had a bath and an early night, and now I’m raring to go.’ What he was ‘raring’ to do was to organise his life at last.

‘Good trip?’

‘Good enough.’

‘Right! See you at the office. I’ll be late, I reckon … got a frantic call from Joe Nightingale … some planning difficulty or other, it’s a damned nuisance. Still, I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t get round.’

‘Dougie, wait!’ Now that his mind was made up, he needed to tell the world. ‘What time will you be back, do you think?’

‘Not sure. You know what it’s like. When Joe can’t have his own way, he tends to get het-up. Then you have to take him out and discuss the finer points over a pint. I don’t suppose I’ll get away much before what … three … four? Why?’

‘But you will be back at the office today, won’t you?’

‘Sure thing, but what’s the panic?’

‘No panic. There’s something I need to talk over with you, that’s all.’

‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’

‘No.’

‘Okay. I’ll try and get away by two. How does that suit?’

‘Okay. See you then. Give my regards to Joe.’

‘Hmh!’ Dougie gave a laugh. ‘Knowing how difficult it can be to drag yourself away when he’s got a bee in his bonnet, I’ll probably have him in tow.’

‘Naw. You’ll deal with it. See you at two then!’

‘Can’t wait!’

A moment later, having seen that his cupboards were bare, Tom threw on his jacket and made his way out of the building. He quickly hailed a cab, though not in the same cavalier way as the young woman before him. ‘Can you take me to the best greasy spoon you know?’ he asked.

The cabbie acknowledged his request with a grin. ‘I know just the place,’ he said. ‘Sausages, mushrooms, and thick fried bread like you’ve never seen. Two slices o’ bread and marge, and a pot o’ tea to go with it.’ He winked in his mirror. ‘How does that sound, guv?’

Tom was impressed. ‘Sounds like the nearest thing to heaven to me,’ he said. Settling comfortably in his seat, he shut his eyes and ears to the traffic and let his stomach dictate.

Even now, early though it was, London was a bustling medley of trolleybuses, bicycles and motor cars. But the cabbie was as good as his word. ‘Baker’s Caff,’ he declared, drawing into the kerbside, ‘owned and run by my own dear mamma … name of Lola. Looks like the devil, cooks like an angel!’

At that minute a woman emerged. All smiles and white teeth, she was ample in every way; obviously of Italian origin, with her black eyes, and her dark hair tied in an elaborate knot at the top of her head. ‘Come in! Come in!’ she urged.

Opening her dimpled arms, she embraced him with surprising strength. ‘Nice to see you, handsome man. You wanna the breakfast?’ As she spoke she nodded, her smile growing so wide it almost enveloped her face.

The cabbie laughed. ‘Course he wants “the breakfast”! Why do you think I brought him, eh?’ Winking at Tom, he suggested mischievously, ‘Matter o’ fact, I’m beginning to feel a bit peckish myself.’

‘No, you can’t!’ She wagged an angry finger at him. ‘I don’t feed you no more today! You be a good boy … get away and bring me more customers.’

Laughing, he deposited Tom into her care and drove off.

Lola’s breakfast was as good as it got with rationing still in place: two huge sausages; a heaping of mushrooms; four crinkly cooked tomatoes; even a fried egg, and the whole plate swimming in juices and fats, which Tom eagerly mopped up with his chunks of fresh-baked bread. Afterwards there was a cup of scalding hot tea to wash it all down.

Lola scooped up his plate. ‘You want more?’

‘Good God, no!’ Tom struggled out of his chair. ‘That was more than enough to last me the whole day, thank you. I’ve never tasted a breakfast like it!’

‘So, you come back another time, yes?’ Lola’s round face was a picture of joy.

He nodded. ‘I’ll be back,’ he promised. ‘Just try and keep me away!’

A few moments later, as he donned his wool coat and hat and left the café, he turned to wave; quietly amused when Lola blushed crimson.

His offices were only a short distance from the café. For a moment he debated whether to take the trolleybus or walk. He had been a minute at the bus stop when he decided against it. ‘On second thoughts, I’d best walk!’ He patted his stomach. ‘It’ll do me good.’

As usual the office was a hive of activity. ‘Nice to see you back.’ As he walked through the gauntlet of typists and clerks, he was greeted with genuine affection.

Turning into his own office, he was not surprised to see the vase of flowers on his window-sill; it was a kind of ritual on his return from a trip. ‘Welcome home.’ Invaluable assistant and secretary to two of the architects here, Lilian was of pleasant appearance with pretty dark eyes. As always for work, her long auburn curls were neatly pinned back in a bun. She had been a good friend to Tom, he reflected.

Coming into the office, she placed the tray on his desk. ‘Like the flowers, do you?’ That very morning she had taken ages choosing them.

‘They’re splendid, as always.’ He took another glance at the vase full of yellow carnations. ‘Thank you, Lilian, that was really thoughtful of you.’

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he smiled down at her. ‘What would I do without you, eh?’

He observed his office with its neat filing cabinets and long, polished desk, the sun pouring in through the window, and for one aching moment he wondered if he had made the right decision after all. ‘Everything in order as usual … but then I shouldn’t expect anything less from you.’

He and the young woman had worked together these past eight years, and never a cross word. ‘You do tend to keep me at it, though.’ He glanced at the desk, its entire surface bedecked with neat piles of papers and rolls of plans. ‘You’re not about to let the grass grow under my feet, are you, eh?’

She smiled confidently. ‘You’ll find all the schedules typed up for your current projects; your “urgent” messages, and a dozen appointments for this coming week.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Enough to keep you out of trouble, I’d say … Oh, and I’ve brought you a pot of tea to keep you going.’ She crossed the room but paused at the door. ‘Give me a call when you’re ready to start dictation. Is there anything you want before I get on?’

He shook his head. ‘Not right now, Lilian.’ He meant for her to be one of the first to know of his decision. ‘Look, I think it might be a good idea for us to talk –’ he glanced at the desk and groaned – ‘after I’ve waded through this little lot.’

She seemed pleasantly surprised. ‘Talk? What about?’

‘Not just now, Lilian … Like I said, when I’ve dealt with a certain matter.’ Which wouldn’t be easy, but it had to be done.

‘Okay.’ She turned to leave but then remembered. ‘Oh, and the boss asked to see you the minute you got in.’

‘Tell him I’m on my way.’

With the door closed behind her he poured himself a tea. Taking a gulp, he scanned briefly through the papers on his desk, then another gulp or two, and he was out of the office and running up the stairs to John Martin’s more private offices.

A tap on the door and straight in; though with caution when he saw that the ‘boss’ was talking on the telephone. A big man with a big heart, John Martin had started these offices some ten years ago and never looked back.

On seeing Tom he quickly concluded the conversation. ‘Well, of course we want the contract, but there’s more talking to be done before I sign on the dotted line. You know me, Arthur, I won’t accept anything until I’m absolutely satisfied everything’s in order, and you’ve a way to go before I’m satisfied on this one. Yes. Right. Talk to me then. Thanks, I will, yes, don’t worry. You too!’

Replacing the telephone in its cradle he got out of his chair and shook Tom by the hand. ‘You did a good job, son. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. That’s why I sent my best man …’ He winked. ‘But that’s between you and me, if you know what I mean?’ Feeling he needed to qualify his remark, he quickly added, ‘Oh, they’re all good men and they know their trade … your Dougie especially. But you’ve got that certain knack of getting people to see reason, without banging their heads together.’ He sighed. ‘From what I understand, you had some real tough problems up there?’

Tom nodded. ‘It’s running smoothly now, though,’ he reassured him. ‘When it came right down to it, there was nothing that couldn’t be put right.’

‘That’s exactly what I mean. Look, sit down. You’ve got a minute I’m sure.’ Rounding his desk, he took up a sheaf of papers and waved them in the air. ‘There’s another difficult one coming up … a major project with several interested parties. Prime stuff … running into millions. It’s in Glasgow – I’ll need you there in the next week or so … a month at the outside. That should give you time to catch your breath.’

Tom shook his head. ‘I can’t do it, John. There’s something I—’

The other man intervened. ‘I know! It’s been one trip after another, and I had hoped to give you some time off. But you really are the best I’ve got. After this, I’ll make sure you can keep your feet on the ground for at least a year, I promise.’

Tom didn’t know how to tell him, but it had to be said, and without the trimmings. ‘I’m handing in my resignation, John.’

‘WHAT!’ Leaping out of the chair, his boss came round the desk, eyes bulging as he looked down on Tom. ‘What the devil’s brought this on? I’ve already said … this job, then a year on home ground. I mean it … I know how hard I’ve pushed you, but after what happened I thought it might help …’ Cursing himself, he paused. He had made it a rule never to raise the matter of the tragic incident that took Tom’s entire family. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Tom, but I can’t let you go. You’re too important to me … to this whole outfit, for God’s sake!’

Tom was equally adamant. ‘And I’m sorry, John,’ he replied calmly, ‘but the resignation stands … it’ll be on your desk within the hour. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and my mind’s made up. The truth is … if I don’t leave now, I’ll crack!’

‘I see.’ Realising how determined Tom was and knowing his reputation for sticking to his guns, John understood the argument to be already lost, but he made one last try. ‘Don’t be too hasty, son. Let’s not talk “resignation”.’ He couldn’t afford to lose Tom. ‘Take a long leave of absence … I don’t have a problem with that. I can cope if I have to.’ He gave a half smile. ‘Though of course I’d prefer you to change your mind altogether …’

Getting out of the chair, Tom looked him in the eye. ‘Thanks all the same, but like I said, my mind’s made up. I’ll work out the month if you want me to, but to tell you the truth, I’d rather go now … right this minute.’

For a long moment the older man regarded him, then, after a moment, he asked kindly, ‘What will you do?’

‘I’ve decided to sell the flat and move away.’

‘Where will you go?’

Tom had not thought that far ahead. ‘I’m not sure,’ he answered truthfully. ‘Somewhere I’m not known … somewhere I can put my life into perspective. A quiet place, where I can find peace, and the time to sort out my life.’

The older man began to sympathise. He could see the pain in Tom’s eyes. He nodded. ‘I understand,’ he murmured. ‘You’ve been so driven this past year … maybe it’s what you need.’

Tom nodded. ‘It is.’

‘All right, Tom, I won’t hold you to a month, but I will need you to pass on your schedules to a colleague … talk him through every aspect. Lend him the expertise to deal with it all in the way you yourself would.’ He threw out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘It has to be a smooth transition … all loose ends tied up. I don’t need headaches. You do understand what I’m saying?’

Tom understood exactly. This was big business. There was no room for errors. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it,’ he promised. ‘I won’t let you down.’

John nodded appreciatively. ‘I wouldn’t do this for anybody else,’ he said, ‘but you’ve given me everything you’ve got to give and it’s only fair I give some back.’

‘Who do you want to take over my schedules?’

‘Your brother Dougie. Oh, I know he’s still got a lot to learn, but he’s doing well now. He’s out of the same mould and he’ll have the added incentive to do you proud. Yes! Dougie’s your man.’

Shaking hands, they said their piece. ‘And don’t forget to keep in touch!’ John warned. ‘When you’re ready to get back in the saddle, your job will be here waiting for you.’

A few minutes later Tom was back in his own office, slightly dazed and a little shaken by the enormity of what he was doing. Yet, amongst all the niggling doubts, he felt instinctively that he was doing the right and only thing.

After three days of being ensconced in the office with Dougie who, though a little nervous, seemed confident about the workload he was taking on, Tom said his goodbyes. There was a small leaving party; the good wishes of his colleagues, and, inevitably, tears from Lilian, who had taken his news very hard. ‘We’ll miss you,’ she murmured, dabbing her eyes with her hankie. And he thanked her for all the years she had looked after him.

When it was over, he left the building with Dougie by his side.

They walked to the pub on the corner where they sat down with a pint each. Tom stretched his legs out and closed his eyes, a sense of relief washing over him. His brother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘I’m still not sure you’re doing the right thing.’ Like Tom, Dougie was lean of build, with the same colour hair; but his eyes were a clear shade of green, and when he laughed he laughed heartily. He wasn’t quiet and thoughtful like Tom, nor did he have that same lazy smile. Instead, when he smiled, his face crinkled like a puppy dog’s.

But he wasn’t smiling now. Instead he seemed worried. ‘I wish you’d tell me where you’re going.’

‘I’m not sure myself yet,’ Tom confided. ‘You’ll know when I do, don’t worry. Besides, you’ve got enough on your plate without fretting about me. Look, I’ll be fine.’ He tried to smile reassuringly.

Dougie wasn’t convinced. ‘I wish I could believe that.’

‘You’ll just have to trust me. It’s what I need to do. Until I get it all out of my system, I can’t move on with my life.’

Dougie nodded. ‘I can understand that. But you will let me know how you’re doing, won’t you?’

‘I promise,’ Tom said. ‘When I’m settled.’

The following morning, after placing the flat and all its furniture in the hands of an agent, Tom packed his bags and left. His first stop was the florist, where he collected a pre-ordered bouquet, a pretty thing with bright-coloured summer flowers in a cradle of green leaves. It was a luxury in a country governed by austerity, but that didn’t matter to him. It was the sort of thing he knew Sheila would have chosen herself.

Sited nearby, the churchyard was speckled with shrubs and trees of all blossom and variety and, far enough from the hustle and bustle, it was a place of solitude and beauty.

Tom laid the flowers beneath the headstone; he read the inscription and softly cried. It told of how a mother and her two children were laid there, taken by a tragic accident. It showed their names and ages, and at the bottom were written the words that Tom had requested:

My dearest loved ones. May God keep you safe until we meet again.

The tears filled his eyes. There was a moment of contemplation, and all too soon the time had come for him to leave – for now.

As he walked away, he saw a young woman laying a wreath not far from where he had been. Almost at once he recognised her as being the same woman who had run out into the street in search of a cab. She didn’t look up. Instead, she blew a kiss towards the grave and walked slowly away, out of the far exit.

As before, Tom was intrigued. ‘Strange,’ he mused aloud, ‘to see her twice in such a short time.’

As he drove off, he wondered about her. Then, as always, his mind returned to the other, more pressing thoughts plaguing him.

Behind him, the stranger watched Tom depart before, with stealthy footsteps, emerging from the undergrowth. At the place where Tom’s family were laid to rest, the stranger paused a while, then reached down to snatch up the bouquet left by Tom. In an angry, callous gesture, the flowers were slung aside, and a new, grander bouquet left in its place.

A few words of regret, a blown kiss. And the stranger was gone.

Chapter 2

WHILE ON THE trolleybus travelling back to her modest flat in Acton, Kathy had time to reflect. Every weekend for the past year, she had gone to the churchyard and laid a posy to remember her father. He had been a good man, a loving father, and she missed him more with every passing day.

The pain of losing that dear man was made worse by her mother’s admission that she had never really loved him. In a terrible outburst, Kathy’s mother Irene had claimed that her husband was not the innocent, caring man Kathy believed him to be. Moreover, she had told Kathy that he was selfish and domineering, in that he had always held Irene back in whatever she wanted to do. She said that, throughout their marriage, he had been the bane of her life … always at work; never adventurous enough for her. When he had suddenly fallen ill, she had made it quite clear that she was not prepared to dedicate her life to looking after him.

As it turned out, though, his illness was short and fierce. He was gone in a matter of weeks.

Distraught, Kathy had never forgiven her mother for the things she’d said. Her sister Samantha, however, was quick to defend Irene. It had always been that way: Samantha and her mother on one side; Kathy and her dad on the other. To make matters worse, Irene had almost seemed to enjoy setting her daughters against each other, always suggesting that Samantha was the prettier, more talented one of the two. There was no denying that, with her long, slim legs and a figure too perfect for words, Samantha was devastatingly attractive; the absolute apple of her mother’s eye.

One particular evening stuck in Kathy’s memory. In front of visitors, Irene had openly chided young Kathy for not caring enough about her appearance. ‘You’ve always been a slovenly creature,’ she complained. ‘You take after your father, more’s the pity, whereas Samantha takes after me. She’s smart and intelligent. She’ll make something of herself. As for you … I don’t know where you’ll end up. Or who will want to marry you. Still, what does it matter? I dare say you’ll be quite content.’

Later, when her mother was busying herself elsewhere, Kathy tearfully confided in her father. ‘Why does she hate me so much?’

Brushing aside his wife’s remarks, he quietly pacified the sobbing child, saying how Kathy mustn’t be upset, that her mother didn’t ‘hate’ her. He suggested that maybe Samantha got more attention simply because she was the first-born by nearly two years. He constantly reassured her that she was loved and wanted, every bit as much as her sister.

It was all of little consolation to Kathy. Time and again in the years that followed, she was made to feel rejected and isolated. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her father and his quiet love for her, her life would have been unbearable. ‘You must never feel second-best,’ he would say. But, with a sister who could do no wrong, it was hard not to feel inferior.

Inevitably Kathy and her father grew closer over the years, and when his expanding business ventures took him away for days on end, she would pine at the window, watching for him hour after hour, ‘like a puppy dog!’ her sister teased, but by now Kathy had learned to shrug off such cutting remarks. Though it hurt when her mother described her in barely concealed undertones as ‘the plain one’. In her heart and soul, and in spite of her father’s reassurances, Kathy knew she could never be the natural beauty Samantha was. Small-built, pleasantly pretty with chubby legs and a hearty laugh, Kathy spent ages looking at herself in the mirror and comparing her modest attributes with those of her more glamorous sister. It made her smile; made her sad. In the end, she shrugged it all off and, safe in her father’s love, simply got on with her life.

She had proved her mother wrong: someone had wanted to marry her. Her wedding to Dan had been a quiet, wartime one, snatched during his leave, with no time for a pretty dress or a party. The two of them had fun at first, in the short, intense bursts of leave, but the long absences had taken their toll. They had never really got to know each other properly. Since the end of the war, Kathy had tried to be a wife to him, but with no children to care for, and a husband who was hardly at home, it had proved difficult. Dan had grown more and more distant, and had finally left her for another woman just before her father became ill.

And now he too was gone and she was alone, except for a sister and mother who treated her with contempt. Oh, but there was still darling Maggie, a very special friend who over these past few years had become more like a sister to her than Samantha could ever be.

‘Your stop, miss!’ The conductor’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘I thought for a minute you’d gawn off to sleep.’

Kathy laughed. ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ she replied with a grin. ‘To tell you the truth, I could sleep on a clothes-line!’

He waited for her to disembark. ‘What? Boyfriend been keeping you out late, has he?’

Kathy thought of her last encounter and laughed out loud. ‘I’m done with all that,’ she told him, and meant it.

Tucked away behind a row of shops, Kathy’s flat boasted one tiny bedroom, a kitchenette, a sparkling white bathroom, and a surprisingly spacious living room, whose wide window looked down over the hustle and bustle of the locality.

Furnished with a brown, second-hand sofa, a little oak dresser carved with roses, a couple of seascapes hanging on the wall, and other market bric-à-brac placed here and there to make it more like home, the flat didn’t have much in the way of luxuries. But it was clean and functional and suited her for now.

She had decided to rent it after she and Dan had split up. It had been a struggle on her salary, but with Dan’s small monthly cheque, she could just afford it. She couldn’t have stayed in their old home. This place had given Kathy that sense of freedom and independence she had sorely needed. It was her sea of calm after the storm, and she loved it.

Relieved to be home, she pottered around the flat, her voice softly humming to the tune of Doris Day’s ‘A Guy Is a Guy’. She had spent a small fortune playing that song on the jukebox at the Palais, but it never failed to make her smile, as it did now. She danced across the room; she was looking forward to the usual Saturday evening at the Palais with Maggie. Saturday night was the one time they could really let their hair down; they could lie in for as long as they liked on Sunday morning.

Kathy picked up her bag, and ran down to the payphone in the hall. Her toes were still tapping as she waited for the connection. While she waited she launched into another rendition of ‘A Guy Is a Guy’, her arms and legs jerking in time with the rhythm.

It seemed an age before Maggie answered. Kathy was about to replace the receiver when Maggie’s blunt Cockney voice finally answered, ‘Yes, who is it?’

Kathy gave a sigh of relief. ‘It’s me, who d’you think it is?’ She suddenly felt tired to the bone. ‘I was just about to put the phone down,’ Kathy told her. ‘Where were you?’ She grinned. ‘Hey! You haven’t got a fella there, have you?’

At the other end of the line, Maggie continued drying her hair. ‘No, worse luck. I were in the bathroom.’

‘So, you haven’t forgotten we’re off to the Palais tonight, then?’

‘No chance! I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Bad day, was it?’

Maggie groaned. ‘You could say that. I’ve never known the salon so busy. Eight bloody hours, an’ I never even got a proper chance to sit down. Honest to God, Kathy, I don’t know why I’m looking forward to the Palais, ’cause I’ll not be able to dance even if I’m asked. Me back aches like it’s been through a wringer, and me feet feel like two over-baked puddings.’

Kathy was used to Maggie’s moaning. It was all part and parcel of her colourful personality. She’d met Maggie at work, when she’d come in as a replacement receptionist. Maggie’s outspoken style and vibrant outfits meant she hadn’t lasted long – but long enough for the two of them to become good, if unlikely, friends. ‘We needn’t go to the Palais if you don’t want?’ she suggested slyly. ‘We could go to the chippie instead, then come back here afterwards. You can help me paint that bathroom wall … I’ve been meaning to do it for ages.’

‘What!’ Incredulous, Maggie yelped down the phone. ‘You asking me to help you paint the bathroom wall … on a Sat’day night of all things?’

‘Well, if you really don’t feel like going down the Palais, I thought it would be a good idea. Besides, I finally bought a tin of paint last week … that lovely lavender colour I told you about. And I know I’ve got two brushes …’ She smiled mischievously. ‘It’ll be fun. What do you say?’

Maggie was shocked. ‘Bloody hell, Kathy, have you gone bleedin’ mad or what! You can paint if you like, but, pudding feet or not, I’m off to the Palais!’

Kathy laughed out loud. ‘That’s more like it! Now stop your moaning and get ready. Eight o’clock as usual, outside Woolies.’

Maggie sounded relieved. ‘You and your painting. You were just having me on!’

‘It worked though, didn’t it?’ Kathy laughed. ‘See you later.’ Eager now to be ready, she replaced the telephone receiver and nipped back up to the flat.

Kathy glanced at the clock. It was just coming up for five. ‘Time enough yet,’ she muttered. ‘Tea and crumpet sounds good.’ Leaping off the sofa, she busied herself in the tiny kitchen area, filling the kettle and switching it on. She put two crumpets under the grill.

In a matter of minutes she was seated at the table, a steaming hot cup of tea in front of her, and alongside that two golden toasted crumpets. After a moment’s hesitation, she added a scraping of precious butter from her weekly ration. ‘It’s an end-of-week treat,’ she told herself.

Hungrier than she’d realised, she soon devoured the crumpets. Washing them down with the tea, she cleared away and went into the bathroom, where she ran a hot bath, stripped off, and gently lowered herself into the soapy suds. It felt wonderful. ‘Just what the doctor ordered!’ She sighed and lolled, and closed her eyes to dream about her perfect man; only to groan with disappointment when she realised there was no such thing on God’s earth.

‘One of these days, I might get swept off my feet by the man of my dreams,’ she muttered, ‘though I’ll probably be old and grey, and he’ll have no teeth!’ The image in her mind made her laugh out loud.

Ready to submit to a full hour of soaking in the tub, she stretched out her legs and, draping her arms over the side of the bath, began to sing; not the rock-and-roll stuff Maggie was so fond of, but a quiet, romantic Nat King Cole song, ‘When I Fall in Love.’ It was one of her favourites. She always loved to swell her voice up to that high note. She could imagine she was Alma Cogan, in sexy high heels and one of those frilly, swingy creations.

Her romantic rendition was brought to an abrupt halt when suddenly the doorbell rang. ‘Oh, now what?’

Slipping and sliding, she struggled out of the bath, grabbing a towel to wrap round her nakedness. It was her neighbour. ‘There’s a telephone call for you. Says it’s urgent,’ he told her. Dripping wet and disappointed, Kathy pulled on a dressing gown, went back downstairs and took up the phone. ‘Hi, Maggie.’ She couldn’t resist a tease. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about painting the bathroom walls?’

‘It’s not Maggie. It’s me … Samantha. We need to talk.’

The familiar voice of her older sister instantly darkened Kathy’s mood. ‘What do you want?’ She must want something, Kathy thought. It was the only time her sister ever called her.

‘It’s Mother.’

‘What’s she up to now?’ Kathy’s mother was a law unto herself, though she hardly ever did anything that might hurt her darling Samantha.

Now, though, Samantha sounded anxious. ‘It’s best if you come over,’ she suggested hopefully. ‘She’s about to do something very silly.’