“Well, they are a pest on the farms, so we’re doing everyone a favour by eating them,” Emily said. “Rabbit stew really isn’t bad.”

“Well, I can assure you we will not be reduced to rabbit tonight.” She sank into one of the armchairs.

“Where’s Daddy?” Emily asked as she perched at the edge of the sofa, looking out on to the garden. “Not working on a Saturday, surely?”

“No, he went for a walk to buy the newspaper,” her mother said. “The boy delivered the wrong one. We’ve a new newspaper boy. The other one volunteered at sixteen. I suppose he thought he was doing something brave, not foolish. And this one is not very bright. He should know that a family like ours would never take anything except the Times.” She gave Emily a withering look. “And speaking of newspapers, we read about that Australian you were keen on. I warned you, didn’t I? I said he’d come to a bad end.”

“Hardly a bad end, Mummy.” Emily swallowed back her anger and forced her face to stay calm and composed. “He died a hero, saving a whole village.”

Mrs Bryce gave a patronizing smile. “My dear girl, that is all just war propaganda. That’s what they always say—he died a hero. He died instantly and didn’t suffer. All lies to make everyone feel better, feel that this ridiculous war has been worth something.” Her voice cracked with emotion, and she put a hand up to her mouth. “I’m sorry. Stupid of me. I still miss your brother. So does Daddy. Such a stupid waste.” Then she composed herself. “But for you it’s all for the best, isn’t it? I mean, you could never have taken a chap like that seriously, never gone to live in Australia. They say the war will be over soon and the young men will be coming home. We can start making plans for you. Maybe a sort of late season in London?”

“Mummy, did it never occur to you that I might want to make my own way in life and not marry a man of your choice?” Emily heard her voice rising now. “Besides, how many men will actually be coming back? And in what condition? Certainly not what you’d call a good catch!”

She looked around as Florrie came in with a tea tray. “Heavens,” Emily said. “What dainty little cups. One forgets. I’m used to great big pottery mugs these days. And slices of bread the size of doorsteps.”

She helped herself to a biscuit and savoured the delicate taste. As she looked across the room and out to the manicured lawn of the garden, she thought how strange it was. She had taken this life for granted. In truth, she had longed to escape from it, longed to know what the real world was like. But now that she was about to face the grim reality of that world, to find out if she would be an outcast forever, she longed to return here, to a place of order and beauty and safety. At this moment, she decided she’d even be willing to put up with her mother’s judgemental ways. But what would her mother think about the baby? Would she worry what her friends might say? Could Emily really pull it off to make the world believe she was a war widow, just like so many others? She stole a glance at her mother’s self-satisfied face, her hair twisted into a perfect chignon at the back of her head, a string of pearls at her throat.

“Goodness, child, we’ll be having luncheon soon,” Mrs Bryce said as Emily helped herself to three more biscuits.

Emily couldn’t tell her that they were necessary to combat the nausea that was threatening. Instead, she said, “Mummy, I haven’t had a treat like this for several months. And we work so hard that we’re always hungry.”

“Working in the fields like peasants! I saw you, covered in mud and filth. I have never been more ashamed.”

“Ashamed? That my work is feeding people in cities who would otherwise starve? Would you be ashamed if I was like Clarissa and was covered in blood from saving soldiers’ lives?”

Mrs Bryce flushed. “There were other ways you could have served your country. Dignified ways, proper for a girl of our class. You could have taken the place of a missing man in that solicitor’s office.”

“I did what was needed when I signed up,” Emily said, “and in spite of the hard work, I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve enjoyed the camaraderie of the other women, and the feeling of accomplishment when we complete a task.”

“You will presumably want to come back home when the war ends and you are released from duty?” Mrs Bryce asked stiffly. From the tone of her voice, Emily couldn’t tell whether her mother was hoping for a positive or negative answer to this question.

“It depends on several things,” Emily said. “Mainly on whether you and Daddy would welcome me back.”

“You upset your father and me with your ungrateful disobedience,” Mrs Bryce said. “I have been a bundle of nerves, worrying about you; worrying about that Australian you insisted on seeing. I don’t know how I feel now. Of course you are my daughter, and as such I shall always feel an obligation towards you. But I don’t know if I want a headstrong girl constantly fighting against my wishes and suggestions, constantly ignoring her parents’ advice when they know better.”

“I see,” Emily said.

“Do you want to come home? To go back to your old life here, in your parents’ home?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Emily said. “I may not be released from service for quite a while. I don’t suppose the men will return overnight, and so many have been lost. They may need the Women’s Land Army to help with the crops for some time to come.”