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impossible task?”
    “I don’t see why. When I was young I could always find the right sort of sweater. They had more choice in those days.”
    “What—during rationing? I doubt that.”
    “They did. Or at least you could always find someone to make you what you wanted. And Sukey used to bring me beautiful clothes.”
    My sister always dressed very stylishly, especially after she married. She cut things up and made them new, of course, but still Ma used to wonder where she got the money, never mind the coupons, and Dad would shake his head, talking about the black market. I got a lovely velvet bolero from her once. I wore it far too often, for very ordinary occasions, and wished later that I’d saved it for best. I was wearing it the last time I saw her.
    She had come through the kitchen door while I was cutting the bread. I’d changed out of school uniform into a dress and my bolero, but couldn’t match my sister in her duck-egg-blue suit and Lana Turner pin-curls. She was seven years older than me, and ten times more sophisticated.
    “Hello, Maud,” she said, kissing me on the top of my head. “Where’s Ma?”
    “Putting on another cardigan. Dad’s getting the fish and chips.”
    Sukey nodded and sat down at the table. I pushed the teapot into a beam of light, thinking that would keep it warm for a little longer. Our kitchen was usually dark until just before sundown, when the rays would make it through gaps in the dense bramble hedge in the back garden. We used to time our evening meal to catch those last few moments of sunshine.
    “Is Douglas in?” Sukey leant forward a little to look down the hall, towards the stairs, as she spoke. “Is he sleeping here tonight?”
    “Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?” I laughed. “He’s our lodger. Sleeping here is what he pays for.” I looked up from my task of laying the cups out. Sukey wasn’t laughing; her face was pale and she couldn’t seem to keep still. She twisted the ring on her finger and spent an age arranging her jacket on the back of a chair.
    “I’d thought I might stay,” she said finally, and must have realized I was staring, because she suddenly smiled. “Is that so odd? So wrong?” She seemed to be genuinely asking.
    “No,” I said. “You could stay in my room. Your old bed’s still there.”
    Ma came down the steps into the kitchen, greeting Sukey and kissing her. “Your dad’ll be back with the fish in a minute,” she said. “Have a cup of tea. Pour it, would you, Maud?”
    “Thank you, Polly,” Sukey said, the way she always did if I made tea.
    “Shall I make your bed up now?”
    “Never mind, Mopps,” she said, her voice low. “I’ll have to think about it first.”
    I poured the tea, feeling like I’d missed something. Dad arrived and we laid the hot fish and chips out on plates, the stinging smell of vinegar rising on the steam. Sukey seemed calmer now, but she dropped her teaspoon when Ma asked how Frank was.
    “Well enough,” she said. “He’s going away this evening, taking a load up to London. They’re packing the van up now, which is why he couldn’t come. All these people moving back home.”
    Sukey’s husband had inherited his parents’ furniture-removal business and spent the war helping people move out of bombed buildings into new lodgings. Now he was helping them to go back where they’d come from.
    “Perhaps you can come over for your dinner while he’s away?” Dad said. “Be nice to see you more often.”
    “Yeah, I could. Just while Frank’s gone. It’s such a big house, and it seems silly to eat on your own, doesn’t it?”
    “ Sure does,” Douglas called as he came into the kitchen. He collected American phrases from the films and used them as often as possible. It was irritating, but both Ma and Sukey had told me I mustn’t mind, because of him losing his mother in a night raid. “How you doing , Sukey?” he said as he took his place at the table and began on his dinner.
    “Fine,