Hannah Brook has paused in washing her front step and cleaning the kitchen window of her cottage, and is passing the time of day with her neighbour. The conversation is polite but distant – Hannah knows that many in the village still have not reconciled their prejudices with what they know of her as a person. It is now almost three years since a careless remark within the hearing of some acute and malicious ears had caused the community to take more interest in parts of her life than she would have wished; and even knowing that, on the whole, time (and her own dignified resistance to the intrusion) has done its healing work in many quarters, she still daily feels a sense of social distance. Not that she is unused to being an outsider, she has been for much of her life, but in some ways it feels particularly acute in these times.

The conversation is interrupted by the clattering of a bicycle as Polly rounds the corner at the bottom of the hill and comes flying down Back Row, hair and skirt streaming behind her. "Hannah, quickly...the Prime Minister..." The young woman brings her bicycle to an abrupt halt with her feet and catches her breath. "Afternoon, Mrs Hepplewhite," she nods at the neighbour, then turns back to Hannah. "Quickly, will you? Mr Churchill's about to speak on the wireless. It's the announcement, I think."

Hannah feels a mixture of emotions begin to swirl inside. This day has been a long time coming, and she still isn't yet sure what it means for her. She thinks the idea that all the awfulness might finally, finally, be at an end might be too much to comprehend, let alone hope for.

Polly props her cycle against the cottage and hops from foot to foot impatiently. Hannah, knowing full well that she is one of the few people on the Row who has a wireless, turns to her neighbour. "Will you come in, Mrs Hepplewhite, and listen with us?"

The older woman hesitates, then smiles slightly through her normal set expression. Her voice shakes very slightly. "Thank you, Miss Brook, that's kind. If I may?"

Hannah leads her neighbour inside and turns on the wireless set, while Polly dashes about knocking on a few other doors. By the time the set has warmed up, seven or eight residents of Back Row are clustered in an awkward hush in Hannah's modest sitting room, waiting with held breath for the Prime Minister to come on the air.

Hannah herself hovers towards the back, out of the way inside the doorway to the kitchen, and although she hears the whole speech, only a few certain phrases register with any impact. Her thoughts, as often, are with the people she has known elsewhere and at other times – but more acutely now than usual.

"The German troops are still in places resisting the Russian troops..." Hannah wonders what that signifies. She can imagine that asking men who have been used for six years to shooting anyone not on their side would find it hard to lay down their guns so suddenly. What if a cornered and desperate group of people, who know all is lost, decide that they can still lash out and leave one last brutal mark on someone else, in pointless defiance in the face of defeat?

"The German war is therefore at an end." That is one phrase which causes a murmur to pass through the unusual congregation in Hannah's cottage. It feels as if a collective sigh of relief is let out. Four or five of the women, who have husbands or sons away in the Forces, dab at their eyes with the corner of an apron or a handkerchief.

"We may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing..." Another collective sigh, but Hannah does not feel like rejoicing. It isn't the immediate reaction of those in her cottage with her, either. Some are still anxious for their menfolk, some are still living with the uncertainty of no news, and one is mourning a loss. Hannah is relieved, delighted that the war – at least in Europe – is ended, and knows it is right that the fighting is over. But she does not feel joy, when she considers the legacy of the last six years.

"Long live the cause of freedom!" That at least is one sentiment with which all of them there, in their various personal situations, could agree. Everyone there, including Hannah, has in their own way lost much to the cause of freedom over the years, but perhaps only Hannah in that moment feels the weight of her own freedom – bought so dearly at the expense of many others she would never know, as well as several she had known so well – and at that moment that weight, that cost, is overwhelming and unbearable.

As the BBC goes back to broadcasting music, Polly glances up at her, frowning at Hannah's expression, and quickly turns off the wireless, which acts as a signal for the others to collect themselves and shuffle back to their own houses. There are smiles on the way out, and patting of arms and muted murmurings of relief, and some of that relief and happiness begins to show in people's faces. One of the younger women, whose sweetheart is still away with the Navy, gives Hannah a shy squeeze of the arm on her way past and a small but unaffected smile of gratitude and affection.

Polly closes the door behind them all while Hannah sinks onto a kitchen chair, burying her face in her hands, and lets the oppressive weight of her guilt at being alive flow over into tears. Polly comes over and hugs her quietly until the weeping stops.

*

Later that afternoon, after Polly has gone back out – presumably to celebrate with the few other younger people in the village, and perhaps to renew her acquaintance with the handsome and charming young Army captain who's appeared recently – Hannah answers a knock on the door to find Mrs Poppleton standing uncertainly on the step.

Hannah almost laughs mirthlessly from shocked surprise at seeing her there, as well as the look of awkwardness on the old busybody's face. "Mrs Poppleton, this is...unexpected. Come in." Hannah moves away from the door and fills the kettle, setting it to boil on the range. "Will you take a cup of tea?"

Mrs Poppleton, stalwart of the church and village, and self-appointed leader of the community in general, steps inside and removes her hat. "I, er...that is...very well, thank you, Miss Brook. If you are having one, perhaps..."

Hannah produces a cake from a tin and cuts two thick slices onto a plate, then the two women sit opposite each other at the kitchen table while Hannah pours the tea. She pushes the cake forward. "It's honey and some of last year's dried fruit. Not the best effort, I'm afraid, and nothing like the original recipe, but we do what we can with what we have."

Mrs Poppleton sips tea and tries the cake, nodding briefly. "It's very good, Miss Brook, thank you."

Hannah knows that the other woman is formidably experienced in both baking and tasting cakes, even under ration conditions, so accepts the compliment with a small smile. "Did you hear Mr Churchill on the wireless?"

"Of course." For a moment, Mrs Poppleton's usually stony facade cracks very slightly. "Thank goodness. At last."

"Indeed. It is a great relief. Yet I fear that people are mistaken if they think life will return quickly to what it was before. If at all."

Mrs Poppleton considers this and nods quickly. "Nonetheless, the Prime Minister did say we are permitted a 'brief period of rejoicing', after all the sacrifice and hardship. I realise your circumstances are...not the same as mine. But to have an end to the fighting, surely...don't you agree?"

Hannah looks at Mrs Poppleton carefully and sees the emotion in her eyes, aware once again of what the woman herself has sacrificed: a husband to injuries sustained in the last war, and a son to this one. She flushes with the sudden realisation that this paragon of community spirit and stoical perseverance is merely adept at hiding her deeper feelings, but that of all days today is one where the facade might find it difficult to hold completely. She glances away quickly, then places her hand gently over the older woman's on the table and looks her carefully in the eye. She chooses her words carefully. "Mrs Poppleton, I am as pleased as anyone that Germany is now free of the tyranny under which it has laboured for so long, and I agree that it is something in which we can all rejoice. Yet I fear too much the painful legacy this conflict will leave, to feel like rejoicing anything but briefly. I am too aware of the loss and suffering so many have been caused. Including you." She withdraws her hand, but hopes that Mrs Poppleton will understand that she is sincere.

Mrs Poppleton drops her gaze and is silent for a moment. When she speaks, it is with unaccustomed quietness. "Thank you, Miss Brook." Some of the tension which has for so long existed between them trickles away. After a sip of tea, Mrs Poppleton continues, her voice still surprisingly gentle. "Captain Toftling has told me of some of his experiences. He said he had news of your brother, which he has shared with you...I...some of the things he described..." She clears her throat. "Miss Brook, I never knew, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware you also had people who were caught up in all this..."

"I never chose to mention it, so you cannot blame yourself for not knowing, Mrs Poppleton. Still, there is news of my brother, yes, and although he is alive the future is far from certain there, of course. The Captain and Sergeant Williams have also told me some of what they have been through, and it is indeed a brutal business. I understand that the Sergeant in particular became close to my brother. I have known some very dear people lost to brutality before, but some of Sergeant Willams's account speaks of particularly cruelty."

For a moment, the two women are quiet, before Mrs Poppleton clears her throat again. "Miss Brook, I know we have not always seen eye to eye, and I hope you will forgive the past. I should like today to be something of a reconciliation, if you will allow it."

Hannah smiles, feeling tears prick the corner of her eyes – although they don't flow. She holds out a hand across the table. "Reconciliation, Mrs Poppleton, is something of which we shall be in sore need now, I believe. I should be very happy to make a start here and now."

Mrs Poppleton smiles back uncertainly and takes Hannah's hand for a long moment as yet more of the tension between them drains away, squeezing it with relief and sincerity. "I am glad, Miss Brook." Something of her normal demeanour returns, and she tries a little more of the cake. "Now, if I may, I have two things to ask of you."

Hannah raises an eyebrow and smiles, but sits back more comfortably and nibbles at her own slice. "In my professional capacity?"

"Indeed. Following Mr Churchill's announcement this afternoon, I'm certain that the period of rejoicing will begin tonight, even though our formal victory party is already planned for Saturday. The vicar and Reverend Waters have proposed a short ecumenical service of thanksgiving for six o'clock tonight, in the church, and I am to ask you if you would play the organ."

"Of course. Do you have the hymns yet?"

"Excellent. I do. Reverend Waters wrote out an order of service for you quickly." Mrs Poppleton produces from her bag a hastily-written order of service in the Methodist minister's normally careful handwriting, and passes it over. "The reverend gentlemen would be grateful for both incoming and outgoing voluntaries as well, if that is not too much. Something more contemplative beforehand, but more rousing at the end?"

Hannah nods. "Of course. I'll go up there presently and look out something suitable."

"Well, if you are going that way, perhaps we could walk up the hill together once we have finished this excellent cake."

Hannah smiles in surprise, as Mrs Poppleton finishes her slice. "Very well, that would be nice. What was the second thing you wanted to ask?"

Mrs Poppleton tries not to smile in her turn. "Well now, I heard recently that you have had some experience of playing more popular music."

"Yes. I was in an all-girl dance band in London for a while, in the '30s. It seems a long time ago now. How did you hear that?"

Mrs Poppleton seems to ignore the question. "I strongly suspect that the rejoicing tonight will not be limited to our little joint service. As I was on my way here and passing the Cross Keys, I overheard some discussion about moving the piano from the saloon bar onto the street for a large scale communal sing-along. You are by far the best pianist in the village, of course, but known to most only as a teacher and the church organist, so when your name was mentioned, someone surprised the others by saying he'd heard you play at a dance in Waleford Bridge a few years ago. The others didn't believe him, but he was very convincing in promoting your talents. Would you be prepared to lower your normal high standards somewhat in aid of people's enjoyment – just for tonight?"

Hannah feels her fingers itch with anticipation. "I'm bound to be rather out of practice." Apart from standing in at the last minute for an ill acquaintance at that dance in town, back in 1943, she had deliberately turned her back on that part of her life almost a decade ago, and hasn't dare admit to herself since how much she's missed it. Also, even if she feels generally at something of a remove from the life of the village, today is – as Mrs Poppleton said – a day of coming together, and she is not too proud to let past misunderstandings be an obstacle to this sort of communal celebration. She smiles, and stands up to clear the table of the tea things. "But I'd be delighted."

"Thank you." Mrs Poppleton also gets to her feet. "Shall we make our way up the hill? It must be close to half-past four already."