‘Just for a minute,’ I had to say. (I could have said, ‘I won’t bite.’ I should have said, ‘Weren’t we friends once?’) ‘Just for a cup of tea and I’ve got cake. I know you’re moving, I just thought it would be nice.’ And I meant it when I added, ‘For old times’ sake.’

Gilbert’s shoulders relaxed when he realised, no, it wasn’t a booby-trap just a cup of tea. ‘Okay,’ he said, but Hortense could barely hide her scowl.

Bernard took one look at them and said, ‘What’s all this?’ I’d wanted him to be out. Hoped he would be, gone on an errand or to see Mr Todd. Anywhere but there – sitting at the table reading the paper.

Gilbert started puffing himself up, ‘Your wife invite us in,’ he said.

Bernard was poised, searching for a cutting quip. The two of them like stags about to lock horns again.

‘Oh, stop it, please, you two. Bernard, I’ve invited them in for a cup of tea.’

And his look said, Why, in heaven’s name, would a woman like me want to do that?

‘I don’t want them leaving without saying thank you,’ I told him.

Bernard tittered doubtfully before going back to his paper. He was a bloody thundercloud sitting in the corner. This wasn’t how I wanted it. He was making it awkward.

‘We can go, Queenie,’ Gilbert said.

‘No, sit, sit.’

Both of them perched so tentatively on the settee, the cushions would hardly have known they were there. They were ready to run. I couldn’t leave them alone in the room with Bernard and that mute anger. They’d have scarpered or a fight would have broken out. And, oh, God, I didn’t want that.

‘Bernard, could you make a pot of tea, please? And bring us all a slice of cake,’ I said. The poor man was too shocked to protest. His mouth open, eyes blinking, dumbfounded, he was left with no good reason why he could not. When he left the room – scraping his chair back, folding his paper with a flourish – it was a blessed relief, like the sun coming out.

I was surprised to find myself tongue-tied, staring across the room at them. Desperate to say something right. ‘I haven’t thanked you,’ I began, ‘for, you know . . . helping me.’ I’d said it to Hortense: her face was as stiff as an aristocrat’s. She lifted her hand waving it at me a little. It was either saying, ‘No, really, it was nothing,’ or ‘Please, don’t bloody remind me, missus’ – it was that hard to tell. There was silence after that before I asked, ‘Where are you moving to?’

‘Finsbury Park,’ Gilbert said.

‘Is it nice?’

‘It need a bit of fixing up.’

‘Has it got furniture?’

‘Not yet, but . . .’

‘Gilbert, why not take the furniture from the room upstairs? If you like. We’ll not be needing it.’

‘No, thank you – it is kind but we will be all right, Queenie.’

‘No, take it, Gilbert. Honest, take it.’

‘I could not take your husband’s furniture,’ he said very deliberate and slow.

‘Look, give us a quid for the lot. Then I’ll have sold it to you.’

Gilbert shifted on his seat. Wouldn’t even glance in the direction of my eye. I’d said the wrong thing, but what? I’d never seen him look so awkward. I wanted to shout out, ‘Let’s just start again – let’s just do that scene again.’ But it was too late. Gilbert and I used to laugh together, what changed all that? The perspiration under my arms was seeping up like a wellspring. ‘Well, you decide, but you’re welcome to it if it would come in handy.’

There was a silence again when I heard the baby stirring. My ears were keen as a bat’s when it came to him. Couldn’t hear the wireless from the other room but if he so much as sniffed I knew about it. Felt it in my skin as if we were still attached. ‘Would you like to see the baby?’ I asked them. ‘Only you haven’t since he was born. He’s a bit less of a fright now. In fact, he’s beautiful. I’ll go and get him.’ I jumped up. I’d no intention of either of them telling me not to bother. But I caught them glancing to each other discreetly with a look of ‘How, in God’s name, can we get away now?’

The little mite was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He gave a wide gummy yawn before his face started crinkling up ready to yell. Then he saw me watching him and began kicking his legs. I took out the shawl – the one Mother had used to christen me in our bleak local church. I’d kept it wrapped in muslin in a drawer. It had sat in there so long it was hard to rid it of the smell of mothballs. I’d washed it five times. It looked so white now – clean and fresh against his brown skin.

‘Here he is,’ I said, as I handed him, this lacy bundle, over to Hortense. I didn’t give her a chance to tell me she was nervous to hold him. She was flustered, messing around with her gloves, straightening up her coat. She took him, though. But, God, she was awkward with him! Held him out like he was a bolt of cloth she was taking for measuring. ‘Let me help you,’ I said. I had to grab him again in case she dropped him – she looked that unsure. ‘Just bend your arms and cradle him on them,’ I told her. She was so cack-handed I could hardly watch. I was short with her when I said, ‘Have you never held a baby before?’

‘Of course,’ she told me.

I’d affronted her, which wasn’t hard, but it did the trick. She shifted, moving him into the fold of her arms until he was resting snug as a baby should with a woman.

‘He’s a lovely boy,’ I told them both. ‘Good as gold. No bother at all.’

Her face, looking down at him, still carried the pinched lips of someone annoyed. But it soon began to soften. He could do that to anyone. His adorable heart-shaped face, glinting eyes and perfect bow mouth couldn’t be looked at for long without even the coldest soul warming. She leaned her head a little closer to his and said softly, ‘Hello.’ It was a start. She looked up to me to hand him back.

‘Oh, no,’ I said. ‘He likes you. Listen, can you hear the noise he’s making? It means he’s happy.’ In truth I was worried he was about to cry. ‘You hold on to him for a bit,’ I said, before realising Gilbert couldn’t see him. ‘Show him to Gilbert. Gilbert, come over here.’ He lifted himself from his seat to look into the shawl. I patted away some of the fabric so he could get a better look. Hortense obliged me by moving the baby round a little.

‘You have name for him?’ Gilbert asked.

‘Michael,’ I said.

Hortense flinched. She looked up at me so quickly she startled the baby. He began to whimper. ‘Oh, careful,’ I said. Her wide eyes were still on me. ‘You all right?’ I asked her.

‘Oh, yes.’ She comforted him nicely back down. She rocked him a little. His whimpering just faded. She made sure he was comfortable again before she said to me, ‘Michael was the name of someone dear to me.’

‘You have a brother call Michael?’ Gilbert asked her.

‘Yes, my brother. He was killed in the war, you see.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry for your brother,’ I said. ‘But it’s a lovely name. I like it very much.’

‘Yes. It is a favourite name of mine,’ she said.

‘Wait, you tell me Gilbert not your favourite name?’ Gilbert said to her. Then returned her weak smile with a little wink.

She looked down at the little mite again repeating, ‘Michael,’ softly, twice like she was christening him with it. I wanted to hug her, thank her for caring what he was called. But I couldn’t. I just looked around me like an idiot and wittered something daft about the tea.

Michael started whimpering again. She was ready to hand him back to me. What must she have thought of me springing away from her sprightly as a flea? They both looked perplexed. ‘The tea – I must just help Bernard with the tea.’ And I was gone. Although I didn’t go into the kitchen, I went behind the door and watched her through the crack. She was doing all the right things with him. Swinging him gently in her arms on her lap, while Gilbert, looking down at him, carefully gave him his finger to chew. He said something close into her ear. Whispered it so I couldn’t make it out. She pouted her lips at Michael saying something in baby, then smiled. Gilbert did the same. They looked so right with him.