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‘In a roundabout and sort of spiritual way, yes, he does.’ He sipped his tea, understanding now from that single swallow that Yorkshire women surely made the best brew in the country. Rose eyed him as though she didn’t know what to fully make of the odd stranger, talking of spiritual connections and dead brothers in relation to her son. He sensed she was far too pragmatic to entertain his romantic notions.

‘What’s this, then?’ Rose said, picking up the chocolate tin. Her pink curlers matched her apron, Harry realised, and he felt a pang of sorrow for this plucky woman.

He explained what he knew, adding, ‘The chocolate’s untouched.’

She looked at him slightly misty-eyed. ‘My Tom loved chocolate. He had such a sweet tooth, I used to tell him he’d lose them all by the time he was my age. He was a good boy; while he liked the idea of teaching he always talked of being a writer, but he knew writing stories wouldn’t earn his keep.’

Harry frowned. ‘I didn’t find a diary or notebook, I’m sorry.’

She shrugged. ‘He was private about it. Wouldn’t have done me any good. I’m not much of a reader and his father could barely spell out his own name,’ she said, her mouth pinching with disgust. ‘At least his sons died giving their lives for England. Their no-good father died with his hands clutched to a bottle of whisky in some shop doorway.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Yes, well, we three were better off without him and his ruined liver. He used to steal my housekeeping money and the boys and I often went hungry. It’s why they both became career soldiers; did well off it until . . .’

He nodded, didn’t need her to say it. ‘The tea is delicious, thank you,’ he said, draining his cup.

‘Another?’

‘I won’t, Rose. I am very glad to have met you and given you these items. I’ll probably get into trouble for it, but that’s not your concern.’

‘So are you doing this for other families?’

‘No.’ He smiled sadly, feeling vaguely pathetic. ‘It’s hard to explain. Finding Tom caught me in an odd moment of reflection. We had the Germans on the run, we knew their surrender was inevitable, and yet I felt so defeated upon discovering your son.’

Her expression softened as all suspicion left her gaze. ‘Harry, you’re alive. I don’t hold that against you. I’ve done my grieving and I’ll do some more now that I have my boy’s things. You’ve done something very kind for a stranger. How long will you stay in the north?’ Rose asked as she stood and began leading him out of the room.

‘Pretty much straight away, although I’ll visit the Rowntree’s factory. I want to, anyway, because of Tom’s chocolate tin – I feel as though it will complete my journey. Rose, um, I was going to try to meet Kitty, tell her about finding Tom, answer any questions she might have, but I can see my presence is understandably confusing. So, perhaps you might . . .’ His voice trailed off at her frown.

‘Who’s Kitty?’

‘Kitty,’ he repeated, uselessly. ‘Um, Tom’s sweetheart?’

‘You mean here in York?’ He nodded and she shook her head. ‘Well, if he had a local girl he cared about, I’ve never heard him speak of her and I was close enough to Tom that I think he would have written to me about her. No, Tom’s great love was Annie, and she came from Burnley. He swore he’d marry her if he survived the war.’

‘There’s a fond note in his tin, though. Er, wait.’ He stepped around her and moved back into the small sitting room where the stench of the cooking cabbage was suddenly overpowering. He returned with Tom’s sack and pulled out the tin, removing the note. ‘Here, read this.’

Rose cast a glance over the words and shrugged. ‘No idea, I’m afraid. I don’t know any Kitty in Tom’s life. Perhaps she’s someone he met abroad?’ Her brow creased as she stared at it again. ‘I can’t help you, Harry. That note is meaningless to me and I can’t contact someone I don’t know. What’s more, I don’t want Annie hearing anything about this Kitty. Tom’s death hit her hard. She doesn’t need to be upset. You keep this note.’

‘Pardon?’

She shrugged. ‘If you’re going up to the factory, perhaps you can ask around as most of the working girls in this city earn their wages up there. But I’m not interested to learn about any other sweetheart.’

‘I understand.’ He frowned.

‘Destroy it, whether you find her or not. I’ll choose to remember my Tom loving Annie.’

__________

Harry had come to the factory as if being guided there by an unseen hand. He’d arrived in a torn frame of mind as to whether or not to bother any further with Kitty. There was a train for London leaving this afternoon; if he strode off now, he could make it easily, with time even for a light luncheon near the station and no rushing involved. Or, given he was here now, he could spend a couple of hours walking around the factory, which he’d find interesting anyway, and maybe find out if anyone knew of a girl called Kitty from 1915.

He was standing near the bridge not far from where he’d alighted the carriage to make a decision. He found himself watching a group of people, presumably factory shift workers, streaming off the train at Selby Halt. It was decision time. He blinked. Should he head home now and feel happy he’d delivered Tom’s things to Rose, or catch the last train this evening and perhaps solve the mystery of the note in the tin, if just for himself?

Harry looked south towards the city and the main railway terminus and then glanced east to the Rowntree’s visitor centre.

He headed east towards the visitor centre. He had to satisfy his curiosity and it gave him a few more hours of distraction before facing his responsibilities.

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