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home by now.’
    ‘Alright, alright,’ Marièle climbed onto the back of the sledge.
    ‘Here, take this,’ George slipped off his overcoat, wrapped it round Cath’s shoulders.
    He took Cath’s hand, helped her onto the front of the sledge. Marièle lent forward, put her arms around Cath’s middle and pulled her backwards until she sat between Marièle’s legs.
    ‘Onwards, driver.’
    George pulled on the rope attached to the front of the sledge. It jerked forward slightly, knocked Marièle and Cath off balance.
    ‘You girls weigh more than you look,’ George said.
    He took the loop of rope, stepped inside it and lent forward, used all his weight to shift the sledge, and began to drag Marièle and Cath through the snow.
    CORPORAL GEORGE DOWNIE
    For a moment the formality of the telegram made her question who that was.
    CORPORAL GEORGE DOWNIE
CORPORAL
CORPORAL
    George. Big brother George.
    MISSING IN ACTION
MISSING
PRESUMED KILLED
PRESUMED
    What did that mean? Was he dead or wasn’t he?
    He might, even now, be trying to get a boat home. Had they just given up on him? George had better odds than most. They’d holidayed in France, Mama had taught them both to speak French. He’d be able to look after himself over there.
    What sort of organisation just guessed what had happened to one of their employees? Just assumed the worst?
    She listened to the news reports every day on the wireless. There must be boys scattered all over the place. All unaccounted for. Did they send a telegram to all of their families?
    MISSING IN ACTION PRESUMED KILLED
    ‘Who was it, Marie?’ Mama shouted from inside the house.
    ‘No grips on these blasted boots,’ George said as he tried to get a footing.
    Marièle looked behind, saw the tracks they left behind breaking up the clear snow. George’s footprints, smudged and sliding, the parallel lines left by the runners of the sledge.
    The snow was bright, lit their way in the blackout. It hurt her eyes to look at it for too long. She turned to the front again, felt Cath warm and heavy against her chest. Cath pressed her hands over Marièle’s feet, rubbed her numb toes.
    ‘How long are you home for?’ Cath asked George.
    ‘Just a few days, I’m afraid,’ he replied.
    ‘Oh, that’s a shame.’
    Marièle felt an ache clutch at her belly. It was a strange feeling, joy and melancholy combined. At the love she felt for George and Cath, at the beauty of the situation they were in, at the loss that this moment was fleeting. That she was losing George to the war, losing both of them to each other.
    She inhaled, Cath’s lavender perfume mixed in with the smoky chalk of winter, then breathed out. She could see her breath visible in front of her. Heard the crumble of snow as George pressed down with his boots, struggling under the weight of her and Cath on the sledge.
    She didn’t want this to end. Even though it was cold, even though it was late and she was tired, even though she could hear George’s heavy breathing, knew he was exhausted.
    It was just the three of them, the only three people alive in the whole world. While they trekked through the snow, there was no war, no rationing, no threat of imminent death. It was just the three of them.
    ‘Marie, what are you doing out here?’ Marièle stood as Mama opened the front door.
    She watched Mama’s gaze as it fell upon the blue envelope.
    ‘Is it from George?’
    Marièle handed Mama the telegram, watched as she fumbled with the piece of paper.
    ‘What does this mean? Je ne comprends pas ,’ Mama asked, looking up at Marièle. 
    Marièle shook her head, ushered Mama back into the house.
    ‘ Mon fils, mon petit garçon , oh Marièle, our George!’ Mama said, squeezing the telegram in her hand. ‘Should we get Father from work?’
    ‘I can’t face going out there,’ Marièle replied.
    If someone stopped her, spoke to her, she would break down.
    Oh God, Cath.
    What would she say to Cath?
    They sat down where they were, on the