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As Rose had expected, there were slim pickings left in the shops.

They managed to get two oranges, some margarine, lard, and four sausages.

Thankfully, mainly due to Beth, they had got some provisions weeks earlier, and made a Christmas cake.

Rose liked Beth’s suggestion that they could eke the sausages out by making sausage rolls.

She was also very glad she’d ordered and paid for a chicken some months ago from a farmer.

He would deliver on Christmas Eve and no coupons were needed.

The Salvation Army band was playing carols on the corner of Princess Victoria and Regent Street and they stayed for a while to listen. To Rose it was the essence of Christmas, and she could see by Beth’s rapt expression she felt the same.

They had spotted a man selling Christmas trees in Boyce’s Avenue, just across from where the band was playing, and on the way home they selected from him a medium-sized, nice bushy tree, and with Rose at the top end and Beth taking the heavier trunk, they began to carry it home.

As they walked across the green in Victoria Square, Rose noticed a man skulking in the bushes. Maybe it was only because of Beth talking about Ronnie, but this man fitted his description. Furthermore he was looking intently at Beth.

Beth was oblivious to anything but the prickly trunk she was holding and trying to tie a handkerchief around.

Rose could see the man was dishevelled, dirty, all the hallmarks of a rough sleeper.

Such men often came to Clifton because they were more likely to receive handouts, both from ordinary people and a couple of charities run by the churches, than they would down in the city centre.

People were inclined to pay them for little outdoor jobs like sweeping paths, cutting grass, mucking out stables.

She didn’t alert Beth– she’d had enough grief for one day– but Rose decided that in future she wouldn’t allow her to go out alone.

As they went on down the road towards Lamb Lane, Rose glanced back several times, pretending she was checking on Beth, but there was no sign of the man. So maybe he wasn’t Ronnie, just a man looking at a pretty girl?

Once home, Beth lit the fire, then filled a big flower pot with soil while Rose cooked the tea. Rose watched Beth from the kitchen, pleased to see she was moving speedily again, and acting on initiative, not asking what to do.

‘We should maybe leave the tree outside for a couple more days,’ Rose said, breaking off from mashing some potatoes to go outside and join Beth. She was pressing the tree trunk into the pot now. ‘We don’t want it bald on Christmas Day.’

‘No, that would never do,’ Beth said and smiled. ‘Mrs Bradley, the woman I worked for, used to be a fiend about Christmas tree needles. Just one left on the floor was a hanging offence.’

Rose laughed, delighted that Beth appeared to be able to talk now about that part of her former life. ‘Come on in now and tell me more about her and her household,’ she suggested. ‘It’s got to be a whole lot more interesting than eating Spam and mashed potato.’

By nine that evening Rose knew a great deal more about Beth: about the interview she’d been to before the bomb struck Trafalgar Square Tube, about how she went into the Lyons Corner House nervously because she wasn’t used to eating in restaurants, and how Elizabeth beckoned her over to share her table.

Rose knew the Corner House well; she often met friends there when she was in London.

So she could picture the busy scene. She could also picture how nervous Mary Price was to be sitting with a well-dressed, confident woman like Elizabeth.

The same age, height, similar colouring, but a world apart in experience.

But as they chatted, Elizabeth must have found the same thing in Mary as Rose had when they first met.

Vulnerable, yet capable, sweet-natured, yet some steel in her spine.

Maybe Elizabeth knew this could become a true friendship, and perhaps, too, she liked the idea of bringing the shy, unworldly girl out of the shadows.

Yet she must also have realized that Mary was the kind to care for people, to want to cook and clean for them both, sew on her buttons, darn her gloves.

And she’d never try to outshine Elizabeth.

Yet in the end it was Elizabeth who saved Mary’s life. She held her tightly against her chest, her big bag protecting this new friend’s head and face. A noble act of true affection.

So how could Rose turn her over to the police? She could almost hear the real Elizabeth Manning whispering that she was glad Mary had done what she did, and that she deserved good fortune.

Rose handed Beth a small glass of brandy. ‘That’s for making me happy and eating dinner, if you could call it that.’

‘I quite like Spam,’ Beth said cheerfully.

‘Just as well, as it’s the mainstay of the pantry,’ Rose laughed, her blue eyes twinkling. ‘I think tomorrow we will make sausage rolls and some mince pies.’

‘Before you turn me in?’

Rose looked at the girl sharply, thinking it was a cheeky remark. But in fact Beth had turned pale again with fright.

‘Oh no, my dear, I can’t do that. I’ve weighed up everything and I can’t see any benefit in it to anyone.

You didn’t steal anything, you just reclaimed your friend’s belongings and then made use of them.

It wasn’t right, of course, but you know that.

I think in the next few weeks we must discuss what to do with the cottage in Ireland.

If you do something with it which is good– say, for instance, giving it to a charity who will let sick people convalesce there– you can be left with a clear conscience. ’

The expression on Beth’s face was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

‘So do I go back to being Mary Price?’

Rose shook her head. ‘No. To do so might flag up things or people you don’t want to come into your life. What’s in a name anyway?’

‘And the money?’

‘That’s up to you, my dear. You’ve got quite enough on your plate right now with Jack missing, and the war ongoing. I think it’s best to shelve that and everything else for the time being.’

‘Oh, Rose.’ Beth began to cry. ‘You are so kind, much kinder than I deserve.’

‘Enough of that tosh now,’ she said. ‘Drink your brandy and we’ll check if there’s anything worth listening to on the wireless. We should put up the holly and the rest of the Christmas stuff tomorrow.’

Close to midnight, as Beth lay in bed hugging a hot water bottle, she heard planes overhead and braced herself for a bomb, but there was no bang.

In fact it was so quiet she could’ve been in the heart of the country.

She offered up a little prayer for Jack’s safety and thanked God for sending her to Rose.

Ruth had taught her to say prayers, just as she told her stories from the Bible, and of Jesus. When she came to think about it, Ruth had been like a fairy godmother, and Rose was another. She hoped one day she could be a good influence on someone, as they had been to her.