She was sitting in an armchair, her legs over the arm. Verity was busy embroidering some flowers along the edge of a cardigan to try and make it look new. She looked up at her friend. ‘If Wilby catches you sitting like that, you’ll get a rocket for being unladylike,’ she said. ‘But why don’t you want to go? Luke hasn’t got any leave, tomorrow is likely to be as grey and chilly as today, and you’ve always claimed Sunday is tedious with Wilby insisting we go to church.’ ‘I don’t know why I don’t want to go, I’ve just got this weird feeling about it,’ Ruby said, and giggled a little. ‘One of my famous premonitions, like when I got the feeling you were in trouble. Okay, that makes me sound cuckoo, doesn’t it? I usually love working Sundays, the patients are all happy because they get visitors, dinner in the canteen is good, and it’s by far the jolliest day of the week all round. But I just don’t want to go.’ ‘Well, you have to,’ Verity said. ‘As you are very fond of telling me, no one else can do your job.’ Ruby threw a cushion at her.
