The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir. Jennifer Ryan

in the square. It was the WVS ladies just off the bus from Litchfield, Mrs B holding forth with Mrs Quail and the dreaded Tilling woman.

      ‘Lovely day!’ she said cheerfully as she spotted me trying to creep back inside.

      ‘Yes, glorious weather,’ I enthused, concealing the baby inside my coat. ‘I’ll have to get my hat!’ I disappeared in, grabbed my hat, and knew there was nothing else for it, I was going to have to stuff the baby into my black bag, and hope he didn’t jolt around too much.

      I emptied the contents, and the crumbs at the bottom, put the baby inside, trying to balance the bottle against his mouth, and crept out once again. The women were thick in discussion, and I decided to make a dash for it across the green.

      ‘Hello there, Miss Paltry,’ Mrs Tilling called as I darted to the lane. ‘You should have been with us today for the meeting.’

      ‘We were just saying how uplifting it was,’ added Mrs Quail, her round face puce with pleasure.

      ‘Oh, how marvellous,’ I said, keeping a distance. A crowd had gathered outside the shop, all in green uniforms like pecking budgies, and I was stuck listening to their nonsense for a few minutes. It was ridiculous. How a bunch of women can honestly believe that a cake sale and some raggedy sewing can win a war, I have no idea.

      ‘Lady Worthing was there,’ Mrs B preened. ‘We have been so fortunate to have her as our benefactor.’

      The baby boy in the black bag began snivelling, quietly at first, and then louder, and I knew I had to leave. Now.

      ‘Must dash,’ I said, making off.

      ‘What was that noise?’ Mrs Tilling said with a start, looking around the green.

      ‘Oh, the ducks are such a menace at this time of year,’ I said cheerily. ‘They keep me up half the night with their mating rituals,’ I added with some quick thinking.

      ‘Oh,’ she said primly. I’m sure she’d consider any allusions to reproduction inherently coarse.

      Only then a distinct baby’s cry came from my black bag, and she glared at it, her mouth open to speak, yet unable to decide what to say.