It had always been her mother’s favourite time of year, and this, the first Christmas without her, was particularly hard on the family she had left behind. But Rosie – Maggie was beginning to genuinely love her sister-in-law – had made great efforts with the food and decorations, even checking that her new family hadn’t forgotten to buy each other presents, so that the gap left by Sheila O’Neill was at least partially filled. On Boxing Day, Maggie had tea with Nell and Iris. Not for the first time, she marvelled at what close friends they had become. For herself, she knew it would be a wrench to return to London, though by now she had got to know a few people. Philip Morrison was Ivy Morrison’s youngest son – she called him her baby. At thirty-five, he was considerably older than Maggie, but they enjoyed each other’s company. He had lost his fiancée during the war, he told her on their first date. ‘Oh dear, I’m dead sorry,’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘Was it the Blitz?’ Philip had given a wry smile.
