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As the train sped towards London, the windows blacked out except for a tiny oblong to see station names, Beth pulled her camel coat round her tightly.

It wasn’t cold but she was bored, as the light was too dim to read.

She silently prayed for sleep and no bombing raids to damage the train track, or anything else that might prolong the journey.

She had been on tenterhooks since she got Jack’s latest letter telling her his leave was approved, and he was coming.

She understood he was not allowed to give any details of how he was getting home for fear of it falling into enemy hands, but he would phone or send a telegram when he could.

Beth couldn’t wait, and just sent a letter to his mother’s address to say she was leaving for London straight away. Margery had a room for her, and he could telephone there.

The crossing from Rosslare had been very rough. So many people were sick, and the smell of it was enough to turn Beth’s stomach too. But she didn’t succumb to sickness. She’d found a seat in a corner and immersed herself in a book, avoiding looking at or talking to anyone.

She was so glad to be away from Ireland. After the night that she tackled Mick Collins for beating his wife, she was scared he might come round to Clancy’s Cottage to cause trouble.

Thankfully he didn’t.

Kathleen claimed it was because he was afraid to retaliate, as he knew she had friends in high places. That idea made Beth laugh. It was true she knew Mr Boyle and Dr McMara, but were a doctor and solicitor enough to make Mick nervous?

Caitlin called round three days after her beating when her children had gone to school.

She was wearing a brimmed felt hat to try and hide her injuries, but once she was in the cottage and took it off, Beth saw both her eyes were black, the side of her face was purple with bruising and she winced as she moved as if her ribs were broken.

‘I just wanted to thank you for trying to stop Mick,’ she said haltingly, and Beth noticed she’d also lost a front tooth. ‘He got in a rage about his work. It is hard for him to provide for his family on ten shillings a week.’

Beth guessed it had taken a lot for Caitlin to come and see her because, in the Irishwoman’s eyes, Beth was upper class and therefore would have no idea of what life was like for the poor.

She wished she could admit to Caitlin that she’d once lived a life just like hers. But that was out of the question.

‘I wish I could’ve done more,’ she said instead. ‘And I was frightened I might have made things worse for you.’

Caitlin sighed at that. ‘I think he quite admired you. Very few people stand up to him. But he isn’t always like that.’

Beth was certain most beaten wives claimed that of their brutish husbands. She remembered hearing her own mother insisting Ronnie couldn’t help his behaviour, because it was due to his experiences in the First War. As if war experiences made a man rape a child!

‘I wish I could at least offer some practical advice,’ Beth said. ‘But he shouldn’t be doing this to you, Caitlin, it is so wrong.’

‘I thought of running away to Dublin,’ she said in almost a whisper, perhaps imagining Mick could hear her. ‘I mean taking the wee ones and finding a room there, and a job. But would I be able to manage without a man?’

‘If you can bring up three healthy children, which I’m sure you did mostly alone, then you could easily manage without a man.

But it’s a big step getting on that train!

You would need to plan ahead, know what you are going to take with you, and to pick a time when Mick wouldn’t be around to stop you.

Then of course you’ll need money for rent and food, enough to tide you over until you can get the kids in school and find a job. Have you got any money of your own?’

Caitlin shook her head. ‘Sometimes when he comes home drunk I go through his pockets and take some of his money. But that’s to feed the children. It could never be enough to escape.’

‘If you really want to go, I’ll help you with some money.’ Beth knew that she shouldn’t be offering that to a woman she knew nothing about, but Caitlin’s position was awful, and it was likely to get worse.

‘Oh no! I couldn’t let you do such a thing,’ Caitlin said, her eyes widening with surprise. ‘It’s grand of you, but I couldn’t accept it.’

‘Well, the offer is on the table if things get worse,’ Beth said. ‘I’d even come up to Dublin with you and help you find a place to stay.’

The clickety-clack of the train wheels was soothing but Beth still couldn’t drop off to sleep.

She tried to lose the image of Caitlin’s battered face, and the helplessness in her voice, but to no avail.

She had been serious in offering Caitlin help; she felt that it would go some way to making up for being an imposter. But perhaps that was crazy.

She knew the reason her own mother ended up with Ronnie was because it was so hard for a widow to bring up a child alone.

Caitlin had no skills, and few employers would take on a married woman, especially one with three children.

She supposed there were Catholic charities she could go to, but they wouldn’t approve of her running out on her husband, and they might even take her children from her and put them in an orphanage.

It was no wonder women in Caitlin’s position felt they had no choice. They either had to live with the beatings or run and live by prostitution!

Beth must have dropped off for a short while as she dreamt she was dancing in Jack’s arms wearing the rose-pink dress.

She almost laughed aloud, because she couldn’t dance– she’d had no opportunity to learn.

But she had brought the dress with her. She had tried it on countless times, staggered by how well it fitted her, and that the colour made her look pretty– something she’d never experienced before.

She just hoped Jack would take her somewhere suitable to wear it.

Beth got a very warm welcome from Margery at No.

18, and after giving her the presents of face cream, a lipstick and scented soap, along with a large rib of beef and some bacon, she’d gone upstairs to unpack.

Margery had shed a few tears, and Sid, her husband, said the rib of beef was the best thing he’d seen in years.

Unpacking brought up worrying memories from ten months earlier.

She remembered lifting out Elizabeth’s clothes, overwhelmed because they were so stylish and expensive.

She was wearing the lilac-coloured jacket now, with a sleeveless dress she’d made herself, just glazed cotton with splodges of lilac on a white background.

Kathleen had been impressed she could sew so well.

She’d almost blurted out about Ruth, because she’d taught her how to use a pattern and a sewing machine.

But as always, she managed to stop herself.

It was strange that she wanted to tell people about Ruth, but never about her mother, or where and how they’d once lived. But perhaps that was just because all the memories of Ruth were good ones.

Jack was going to find it very odd if she didn’t ever come out with a few anecdotes about her childhood.

She might have come out of herself immeasurably in less than a year, doing things she’d once thought would terrify her, but she knew she wasn’t capable of inventing fictional personal stories.

It crossed her mind that maybe she could claim the bang on her head had made her suffer some loss of memory. Would Jack believe that?

After unpacking, Beth went into the dining room where Margery was doing some dusting. She smiled at Beth. ‘So, when is he getting here?’

Beth explained about the military secrecy and added that he might be visiting his family in Cornwall before coming to London.

‘I expect he’ll stay at the servicemen’s place up near Baker Street,’ Margery said.

‘So how do you know him? Not that it’s any business of mine, of course,’ she chuckled.

‘Why don’t you sit down with me for a bit and have a cuppa, at least until there’s an air-raid warning. I want to know all about Ireland too.’

It was good to chat to Margery. Kathleen was great in so many ways, but Beth felt she probed too much and she had to be on her guard when questions came round to the past. Margery, on the other hand, lived in the present.

She wanted to know about Ireland, what the cottage was like, how far to a shop, and about the locals. And whether Beth was lonely.

‘Yes I am a bit,’ Beth admitted. ‘To be truthful if it wasn’t for the war I’d lock up the cottage and come back. The scenery is beautiful, the cottage lovely, but I think I’d rather be doing war work here.’

She went on to tell her about the evening when she was knocked into the ditch. ‘I’ve never been so cold and frightened. I thought I’d be stuck in there for ever. Thank God the doctor came along and rescued me.’

‘So what is he like?’

Beth smirked. ‘Kind, attentive, and I’m ashamed to admit I got a bit of a crush on him. If Jack hadn’t written and suggested I come here, I might have made a fool of myself.’

‘A married man?’ Margery raised an eyebrow.

‘Yes, with three children, and by all accounts his wife is beautiful.’

Margery nodded as if she could see the whole picture.

‘To be honest, Beth, I was worried about you when you left here. You’d had a bad scare in the bombing, lost your friend, and you’ve no family.

I thought of you like an abandoned kitten, needing a home and some mothering.

Girls in that position are very vulnerable to a silver-tongued man. ’