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to the café, carrying her bargain.
    Someone pushed open the door to the shop and set the bell ringing. Cora hurriedly looked up from the counter, where she’d been reading the
Daily Mail
. She’d been enjoying the story of the new princess in Monaco. She’d always been a Grace Kelly fan and now the former film star had a daughter who was born a princess. Sighing, Cora put from her mind her worries about her own family.
    Then she realised she recognised the figure who’d just walked in.
    â€˜Fred Chapman!’ she exclaimed. ‘Haven’t seen you for ages. Where’ve you been hidin’ yourself?’
    â€˜Cora Butler, as I live and breathe,’ said Fred, wheezing as the warm air hit him. He was a short man with a balding head and a face red from the chilly January weather. His hands were large and coarse, from heavy lifting and hard work, but his smile was genuine and lit up his plain face. ‘Didn’t realise you worked here. You don’t look a day older than when I last saw you.’
    â€˜Couldn’t have been that long ago then, Fred.’ Cora gave him a straight look. ‘But how have you been keeping? Have you still got that butcher’s shop on Falcon Road? And how’s your mother?’
    Fred’s expression changed. ‘That’ll be why you haven’t seen me in a while,’ he said. ‘Mother died last year and I’ve been trying to get things sorted ever since. It hasn’t been easy, what with it being just me to do everything and keep the shop going too. But she hadn’t been well for ages so I couldn’t have wanted her to go on the way she was.’
    â€˜A blessing, then,’ said Cora. Privately she thought it was just as well. Old Mrs Chapman had been a proper harridan, bullying her mild-mannered son and taking out her disappointments on anybody stupid enough to go near her. Cora remembered many years ago, when her husband had still been alive, going round to the flat above the shop and getting her head bitten off for nothing more than saying hello. Jack Butler had been good friends with Fred Chapman before the war, despite being a few years older, but that had made no difference to the spiteful old woman. Looking at Fred, she wondered where the time had gone, realising that he must be in his early forties now.
    â€˜Maybe,’ said Fred, rubbing his hands and looking around. ‘So how long you been here, then, Cora?’
    â€˜The job came up just when me back got too stiff to take in the laundry, and I have to say it suits me down to the ground,’ beamed Cora. ‘And how’s business these days?’
    â€˜Not so bad,’ said Fred, who was never keen to talk shop when he was away from work. He didn’t like to blow his own trumpet for fear it would change his luck – his business had flourished in the years since rationing ended. The reason he was away from the premises now was that he was having some new fridges installed, the very latest models, but he didn’t imagine anyone would be very interested in that. ‘You should stop by sometime, Cora. Are you still getting your meat from the market? You should come to me instead. I won’t charge you the earth, you being an old friend and everything.’
    â€˜That’s very kind of you, Fred,’ said Cora, delighted at the thought of a bargain piece of good-quality meat. ‘My girls eat me out of house and home. I’ve got a day off early next week so maybe I’ll come and see you then.’
    â€˜I shall look forward to it.’ Fred reached into his pocket for his change. ‘I only came in here for a pack of Lucky Strikes. So bumping into you again is an unexpected bonus.’ He took the cigarettes and offered one to Cora.
    â€˜No thanks, can’t stand the things,’ she replied. There had been no money for luxuries like tobacco for many years and now she’d got out of the habit. Besides, she