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‘Well, keep it to yourself. It will frighten people.’

‘Frighten them?’ The woman laughed. ‘With bombs dropping on us every day? I hope you’re joking.’

‘We have enough to worry about without fearing what bad things are still coming at us. I have three children to feed.’

‘You’re thick with the Falzons, Stella Camilleri. Don’t tell me you’re not getting plenty that the rest of us can’t.’

Valentina was horrified to see her mother round on the woman. ‘You take that back, Rosa De Santis.’

The woman crossed her arms. ‘I won’t. From what I hear, you’re using your beautiful Valentina here to broker the best deal of all.’ Now she rubbed her sunken stomach. ‘You’ll have a full belly while the rest of us starve, and all because of her’—she smirked at Valentina—‘who’ll have a full belly with something else when that Falzon lad has his way.’

Valentina thought she might just vomit on Rosa’s scuffed shoes. She pushed the pots into her mother’s hands and fled, barely glancing at her mother’s shocked face or hearing her cutting response to her neighbour as she left. She ran until she found herself beneath the cool of the trees outside the cathedral. Her family did not worship here because her parents had always attended their local church, now badly bombed, but she loved the cathedral’s grandeur, which she remembered from the odd visit during early childhood.

She closed her eyes and breathed in, then breathed out her frustration as best she could. There was a lot to release, she realised, with her wedding to Lawrenz getting closer. It felt impossible, it felt⁠—

‘Hello, Valentina,’ came a voice that was familiar, a voice that she could hear was strained. She whirled around.

If she could have dreamed up anyone in this moment, it would have been him. Peter Fox was like a special angel sent to her in this moment of need: handsome, golden, his attention focused on her. It didn’t matter that he was married. Her feelings for him were private; he need never know. But while Peter was the best-looking man she’d ever encountered, his skin right now was grey, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. The hair around the bandage was desperately in need of a wash, and his eyes had a faraway, lost look in them. Was it his medication? she wondered. Or something else?

She instinctively reached for him, but he was already falling towards a nearby bench, dropping the crutch he was using to support his damaged ankle. It was lucky he’d made it this far. ‘Flight Lieutenant Fox,’ she said, alarmed. ‘You⁠—’

‘Call me Peter, please,’ he said between heavy breaths. ‘We’re friends, remember.’

She smiled. Yes, she and Peter Fox were friends, joined through shared trauma. As the last person watching him before he died and the first person he saw as he drew breath again, they were bound somehow, surely? Maybe it was an omen, though of what she had no idea.

‘How come you’re not in hospital?’ she asked.

‘I made another escape,’ he muttered, looking like he might pass out.

She opened her mouth in surprise. ‘You left without permission?’

He chuckled mirthlessly, and she saw his breathing was fast and shallow. ‘Yes. I’m sure to get into a lot of trouble. I just needed air and to see the city. It’s horrid to see it bombed. Anyway, as I struggled uphill I saw a familiar figure making for the cathedral and although I’m much slower than you at the moment, I decided to follow.’

She found a smile. ‘I like it here. And it feels safe – they don’t seem to bomb around here.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Not strategic enough. Although I have flown many sorties over Germany, and I have to say flying here makes that feel like a walk in the park. I know that sounds stupid, but what you folk are surviving on the ground and what we’re doing in the air has to be experienced to be believed.’

Valentina had nothing to compare her experience to, but she grasped what he was saying. ‘It’s why I come here – it’s quieter than the rest of the city. I can think better.’

He frowned. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

‘We were only going three times a week. Though in the last few weeks the bombing’s got bad enough that school has closed for the time being. It’s too dangerous for the teachers to travel.’

‘Ah that’s right, plus some of the schools have been seconded for the billets and refugee centres. I’d forgotten.’ He was looking even paler, she noticed. What was wrong?

‘Peter, I think we should get you back.’

He looked terrible. She could smell the hospital on him, antiseptic and disinfectant. His bandages were fresh, but she could see pricks of blood beginning to soak through the dressing on his head. What if he died here with her… for the second time? She didn’t want him to, but she would take him in her arms so at least he would die being held by someone who loved him to her very soul.

‘Just a few minutes more,’ he rasped. ‘Tell me about school. What are you doing if the school is closed?’

‘I study on my own. Most of my teachers are now in the roles of protection officers, or part of the special constabulary. My favourite teacher has volunteered in the hospital.’

‘So you study where?’

‘Underground,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Sometimes with a candle if the lamps don’t work. I want to pass my exams.’

‘Well, I’m pretty useless at the moment to my squadron, so I can help you, if that’s of any interest.’