Viv shook her head. 'I'm sorry, Jean. I can't, tonight.'

'Oh, but Viv!'

'Don't listen to her, Jean,' said Betty. 'She's not herself.'

'I'll say she's not herself! Viv, they've been hoarding for absolute weeks-'

'I told her that.'

'I can't,' said Viv again. 'Honestly, I don't feel up to it.'

'What's there to be up to? All those boys are after is a few swell-looking girls in tight sweaters.'

'No, really.'

'It isn't every day a chap gets his divorce through, after all.'

'No, honestly,' said Viv, her voice beginning to break, 'I can't. I can't! I-'

She stopped walking, put her hand across her eyes; and there, in the middle of Wigmore Street, she began to cry.

There was a moment's silence. Then Betty said, 'Uh-oh. Sorry, Jean. Looks like the party'll have to do without us after all.'

'Well, it's hard luck on those fellows. They'll be awfully disappointed.'

'Look at it this way: there'll be more for you.'

Jean said, 'That's a thought, I suppose.' She touched Viv's arm. 'Cheer up, Viv. He must be a rotter, you know, if he makes feel like this… I'm going to fly back to Johnnie Adam House, girls! If you change your minds, you know where to find me!' She went off, almost running.

Viv took out her handkerchief and blew her nose. She raised her head, and saw people watching her, mildly curious, as they passed by.

'I feel such a fool.'

'Don't be daft,' said Betty gently. 'We all cry, sometimes. Come on, kid.' She drew Viv's arm through hers again, and squeezed her hand. 'Let's get you home. What you need's a nice hot-water bottle, and a gin with a couple of aspirin in it… Come to think of it, that's what I need, too.'

They began to walk again, more slowly. Viv's limbs seemed to tingle, almost to buzz, with tiredness. The thought of going back to John Adam House-at this time of night, when the place would be in chaos, with chairs being dragged across the dining-room floor, the lights blazing, the wireless blasting out dance-music, girls running up and down the stairs in their underwear, ripping curlers from their hair, calling to each other at the top of their voices-the thought exhausted her.

She pulled at Betty's arm. 'I can't face going back just yet. Let's go somewhere else, somewhere quiet. Can we?'

'Well,' said Betty, doubtfully, 'we could go to a café, something like that-'

'I can't face a café, either,' said Viv. 'Can we just sit down somewhere? Just for five minutes?' Her voice was rising, threatening to break again.

'All right,' said Betty, leading her off.

They found themselves, after a short walk, in one of the area's residential squares, and went into the garden. It was the sort of place that would have been locked to them in the years before the war; now, of course, the railings had gone and they went straight in. They found a bench away from the thickest bushes, on the quietest side of the square. It was not quite dark, but getting darker all the time, and Betty, looking around, said, 'Well, we'll either get raped, or someone'll think we're a couple of good-time girls and offer us money. I don't know about you, but if the price was right I might be tempted to take it…' She still had hold of Viv's arm. 'All right, kid,' she said, as they sat and drew close their coats. 'Tell me what's wrong. And remember: I've given up the chance of getting groped by an MOI divorcé for this, so it had better be good.'

Viv smiled. But the smile grew almost painful, almost at once. She felt the rising of tears in her throat just as, before, she'd felt the rushing up of sickness. She said, 'Oh, Betty-' and her voice dissolved. She put a hand across her mouth, and shook her head. After a second she said in a whisper, 'I'll cry, if I say it.'

'Well,' said Betty, 'I'll cry if you don't!' Then, more kindly: 'All right, I'm not stupid. I've a pretty good idea what this is about. Or who, I should say… What's he done now? Come on, there's a limit to the kind of thing a man can do to a girl to make her cry. They just don't have the imagination. He either stands her up, or chucks her over, or knocks her down.' She snorted. 'Or knocks her up.'

She said it jokingly, beginning to laugh. Then she met Viv's gaze through the gathering darkness, and her laughter faded.

'Oh, Viv,' she said quietly.

'I know,' said Viv.

'Oh, Viv! When did you find out?'

'A couple of weeks ago.'

'A couple of weeks? That's not so much. Are you sure it's not just-you know, just a bit late? With all these raids-'

'No,' said Viv. She wiped her face. 'I thought that, at first. But it's not just that. I know it's happened. I just know. Look at the state of me… I've been sick.'

'You've been sick?' said Betty, impressed. 'In the mornings?'

'Not in the mornings. In the afternoons and at night… My sister was like that. All her friends were sick first thing, but she was sick nearly every night, for three months.'

'Three months!' said Betty.

Viv glanced around. 'Shush, will you?'

'Sorry… But crikey, kid. What are you going to do?'

'I don't know.'

'Have you told Reggie?'

Viv looked away. 'No, I haven't.'

'Why not? It's his fault, isn't it?'

'It's not his fault,' said Viv, looking back. 'I mean, it's my fault as much as his.'

'Your fault?' said Betty. 'How's that? For giving him-' she lowered her voice even further, 'permission to come aboard? That's all very well, but he should-you know, have worn his raincoat.'

Viv shook her head. 'It's been all right, until now. We never use those. He can't stand them…'

They sat in silence for a second. Then, 'I think you should tell him,' said Betty.

'No,' said Viv firmly. 'I'm not telling anyone except you. Don't you tell anyone, either! God!' The idea was awful. 'Suppose Gibson finds out? Remember Felicity Withers?'

Felicity Withers was a Ministry of Works girl who'd got herself pregnant by a Free French airman, the year before. She'd thrown herself down the stairs at John Adam House; there'd been the most awful row about it. She'd been dismissed from the Ministry, sent home, back to her parents-a vicar and his wife-in Birmingham.

'We all said what a nit she was,' said Viv. 'God, I wish she was here now! She got-' She looked around, and spoke in a murmur. 'She got some pills, didn't she? From a chemist's?'

'I don't know,' said Betty.

'She did,' said Viv. 'I'm sure she did…'

'You could take Epsom salts.'

'I've done that. It didn't work.'

'You could try a red-hot bath, and gin.'

Viv almost laughed. 'At John Adam House? I'd never get the water hot enough. And then, imagine if someone saw, or smelt the gin… I couldn't do it at my father's, either.' She shuddered, just thinking about it. 'Isn't there anything else? There must be other things.'

Betty thought it over. 'You could squirt yourself, with soapy water. That's supposed to work. You have to hit the right spot, though… Or you could use-you know-a knitting needle-'

'God!' said Viv, growing sick again. 'I don't think I could bear to. Could you, if you were me?'

'I don't know. I might, if I was worried enough… Can't you just-lift weights?'

'What weights?' said Viv.

'Sandbags, things like that? Can't you jump up and down on the spot?'

Viv thought of the various uncomfortable ordinary journeys she'd had to make in the past two weeks: the bumping about on trains and buses, the flights of stairs she'd climbed at work… 'That kind of thing won't do it,' she said. 'It doesn't want to come out like that, I know it doesn't.'

'You could soak pennies in drinking-water.'

'That's just an old wives' tale, isn't it?'

'Well, don't old wives know a thing or two? That's why they're old wives, after all, and not-'

'And not old you-know-whats, like me?'

'That's not what I meant.'