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thought you might be ready for your tea.”
    There was nothing Emma recognized quicker or distrusted more than a fake smile. “I’m not hungry,” she said and gripped Charlie tighter.
    “I guess I’m not, either.” If they were stuck there together, Bev decided, at least they could talk to each other. “It’s hard to have a nice tea with all the hammering going on.” Taking the step, she sat on the window seat beside Emma. “This is a nice spot. I think I should plant more roses, though. Don’t you?”
    Emma’s lip poked out a little as she moved her shoulders.
    “We had a lovely garden when I was a girl,” Bev continued desperately. “I used to love to go out in the summer with a book and listen to the bees hum. Sometimes I wouldn’t read at all, but just dream. It’s funny, the first time I heard Brian’s voice, I was in the garden.”
    “Did he live with you?”
    She had Emma’s attention now, Bev thought. It only took a mention of Brian’s name. “No. It was over the radio. It was their first single—’Shadowland.’ It went … ’At night, midnight, when shadows hug the moon.’” Bev started the tune in her soft lilt, then stopped when Emma picked it up in a clear, surprisingly strong alto.
    “‘And the land is hot and still, breathless I wait for you.’”
    “Yes, that’s the one.” Without realizing it, Bev reached out to stroke Emma’s hair. “I felt he was singing it just for me. I’m sure every girl did.”
    Emma said nothing for a moment, remembering how her mother had played it over and over on the record player, drinking and weeping while the words had echoed around the flat. “Did you like him because he sang the song?”
    “Yes. But after I met him, I liked him much more.”
    “Why did he go away?”
    “His music, his work.” Bev glanced down to see Emma’s big eyes shiny with tears. Here was kinship, where she hadn’t wanted or expected it. “Oh, Emma, I miss him too, but he’ll be home in a few weeks.”
    “What if he doesn’t come back?”
    It was foolish, but Bev sometimes woke with that same awful fear in the middle of the night. “Of course he will. A man like Brian needs people to listen to his music, and he needs to bethere while they do. He’ll often go away, but he’ll always come back. He loves you, and he loves me.” As much for comfort as to comfort, she took Emma’s hand. “And there’s one more thing. Do you know where babies come from?”
    “Men stick them in ladies, but then they don’t want them.”
    Bev broke off an oath. She could cheerfully have throttled Jane at that moment. Although Bev’s own mother had always been reserved, unable to speak of intimacy in more than a vague fashion, Bev firmly believed in openness. “Men and women who love each other make babies together, and most of the time they both want them very much. I have a baby right here.” She pressed Emma’s hand against her stomach. “Your father’s baby. When it’s born, it will be your brother or sister.”
    After a moment’s hesitation, Emma slid her hand over Bev’s stomach. She didn’t see how there could be a baby in there. Mrs. Perkins across the alley had had a big bloated belly before little Donald had come.
    “Where is it?”
    “Inside. It’s very, very small now. It has almost six months more to grow before it’s time for it to come out.”
    “Will it like me?”
    “I think so. Brian will be its da just like he’s your da.”
    Enchanted, Emma began to stroke Bev’s stomach as she sometimes stroked Charlie. “I’ll take good care of the baby. No one will hurt it.”
    “No, no one will hurt it.” With a sigh, Bev slipped an arm around Emma’s shoulders and looked out toward the hedgerow. This time Emma didn’t inch away, but sat still, fascinated, one hand over Bev’s stomach.
    “I’m a little afraid of being a mum, Emma. Maybe you can let me practice on you.”
    After a deep breath, Bev stood up, bringing Emma with her. “We’re