Pauline and I are sitting on the grass on the common, eating apples. They’re from a tree in our garden that bloomed again this spring. I go back there to look at the garden sometimes, though I didn’t at first. The house is getting rebuilt, but it won’t be ready for months yet. We’re in a bungalow on Park Road for now. It’s a bit crowded, but it’s good for Mum because there aren’t any stairs. She gets around OK, but her hip still hurts sometimes. It’s warm and sunny, but this is the beginning of September. We start school again next week. ‘How’s your gran?’ I ask. ‘OK,’ says Pauline. ‘She likes it in the home. We didn’t think she would, but she says she enjoys the company.’ The war is over now. It ended a couple of months ago. Mum and Dad and Ian and I went to London to see the celebrations. Such a lot of light! All the street lamps were on and the shop windows were lit up, and two searchlights made the form of a V for Victory in the sky. It was funny to see them perfectly still like that, not moving about in search of planes.
