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since Mr Singerman’s only child had gone to stay with his brother in Austria, and he’d never seen her since. Ruth got married, had children, and corresponded regularly, but once Hitler grabbed Austria in his typically ruthless way, her letters ceased abruptly. Her distraught father could only fear the worst. Until yesterday that is, when the good news arrived out of the blue from a most surprising source; a synagogue in Spain had reported Ruth was safe.
    “I bet you can’t wait to see her,” Eileen said warmly.
    The light died a little in his eyes. “I can’t wait, no, but all the same, I keep worrying what has happened to her husband and the grandchildren I have never met.”
    Eileen squeezed his arm. “Let’s hope they’re all right, too. You’ll know soon enough when she comes home.”
    “You never heard her play the piano, did you, Eileen?
    Oh, she was a marvel, that girl. A virtuoso! She was going to be a concert pianist.” He shook his head mournfully.
    “She will be annoyed when she finds my old piano so out of tune.”
    “She’ll be so pleased to see you she won’t give two hoots about the piano,” Eileen said dismissively.
    After he’d gone, she listened to Saturday Night Theatre, but when the play finished, couldn’t scarcely remember a thing about it. She’d been thinking of Nick and what they would have been doing if only she hadn’t missed the train.
    Francis appeared just after she’d put the kettle on to make a final cup of cocoa, and her heart sank. She’d been hoping he might sleep the night through. “How do you feel?” she asked stiffly.
    “Better than I’ve done in weeks.” He stretched his arms.
    He’d gone to bed almost fully clothed, having merely removed his battledress top, and his khaki shirt was creased. Francis had always managed to appear rather dashing in the cheap, coarse uniform. Annie always claimed he looked a mite like Clark Gable, handsome, with a devil-may-care look in his brown eyes. The bandage, which had become slightly askew, made him appear rather rakish. “It’s nice to kip down in me own home again,” he said.
    “I expect it must be.” The kettle boiled and she went into the back kitchen.
    “Y’know, luv,” Francis called, “I meant what I said when I first came home. Things are going to be a lot better from now on, I promise.”
    I should hope so, she thought grimly. He’d been such a charming man when they first met. She’d been quite carried away by his captivating manner and the compliments which fell from lips which must have kissed the Blarney Stone on more than one occasion.
    On the other hand, the better things were, the more difficult she would find it to get away. Her head swam because everything seemed so complicated. Perhaps things would be clearer in the morning, she thought hopefully.
    She made two cups of cocoa and gave one to Francis, saying, “I think I’ll drink mine in bed. I’ve had a busy day and I’m fair worn out, what with Annie getting married and everything.”
    “Right you are, princess,” he said jovially. “By the way, would you mind putting a pair of me ould pyjamas in the back bedroom? I’ve looked through the drawers, but it’s all Tony’s stuff.”
    “Of course,” she said quickly. “In fact, tomorrer, I’ll change all the clothes around so’s you’ll have everything to hand when you need it.”
    Sitting up in bed at half past two in the morning, Eileen felt an enormous sense of relief that the sleeping arrangements had been sorted out so amicably - not that she would have given in to pressure. Perhaps Francis really had turned over a new leaf. She was halfway out of bed in order to go downstairs and get her ciggies, convinced she’d never fall asleep without one, -when a floorboard creaked again, then another. She froze, one foot on the floor. Francis was coming upstairs! He’d probably been to the lavatory at the bottom of the yard.
    Eileen jammed a chair under the knob of the bedroom