5September, 1947, cold, but bright. The morning air bit sharp as she stood on the doorstep, dressing gown pulled close. She leaned against the door well and watched her husband stomping off down the street. He paused at the corner, looking back, raising a hand in a solemn goodbye. She smiled, gave a little nod, and then he was gone and the loneliness closed in upon her like a prison door.
In the tiny living room, Matthew sat amongst a mess of strewn building blocks. He barely looked up when his mother came in and flopped down on the settee next to him. A little while later she got up and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.
Trudy was there, sitting in her basket, her little tail wagging, big eyes all expectant. “Later,” was all her mistress said, filling the kettle then se
