‘Wouldn’t know.’ He stands, gulping down the last of his tea and handing the mug back. ‘I’d best go. Thanks for the food.’ He turns back momentarily, wanting to ask the man to call Uncle Robert and say he’s doing just fine, but he simply raises his hand and nods his head.

‘All the best, young man, God bless.’

‘Thank you.’ William waves again before plunging his hands into his pockets and walking as quickly as he can through the people and muck and lorries, back to the chapel, promising himself afresh with every step that he will not shed a tear, not a single one, until he has left this place.

7

William is laying a blanketed body on the table mid-afternoon, when the vestry door whooshes open. William, Jimmy and Harry look up from what they’re doing. A policeman stands before them, his hand on the shoulder of a plump, short woman in a red dress swamped by a man’s jumper. She’s breathing heavily, as if she’s just run here. She makes eye contact with each of them, but her gaze rests on William for the longest.

‘This is Betty Jones,’ the policeman says. ‘She’s asking—’

‘I can’t settle,’ she interrupts, clasping the thick handle of her bag. ‘My home’s buried under this murderous filth, so we’re staying with family.’ She turns to the policeman and then urgently back to them. ‘Gentlemen, please let me help. I’ll do anything, anything. What I can’t do is spend one more minute at my sister-in-law’s and not do something!’

Her hair sits in neat, brown curls. The strip of red hem below the green wool is pretty fabric, the sort his mother would wear, but the way she’s thrown on that big jumper, and the wellies on her feet, make her look childlike. Her legs are stocky, her body brimming with energy. ‘Please,’ she continues before Jimmy can answer, ‘let me help.’ Her face creases.

‘Thank you, Betty,’ Jimmy says eventually. ‘Any job in here is extremely harrowing. Especially if you know any of them.’

‘I know all of them,’ she replies immediately, ‘and their parents. If this had happened twenty years ago, it would have been my two on these tables.’ Her voice drops. ‘I want to do something for those poor parents.’

‘William?’ Jimmy nods at him. ‘Let Betty help you prepare them for identification.’

Betty puts her bag in the corner next to the coffins, then reaches into it for some yellow rubber gloves.

‘I’ve come prepared.’ She stands opposite William and looks at him with a brave, business-like smile. ‘So, love, tell me what to do.’

Betty is nothing like his mother; she’s older, smaller, there is no flow or elegance to her movements, but he recognises a quality in her. She is terrified, traumatised, but she is also courageous and determined.