Something moves across William’s scalp, like a twang of elastic. ‘Why? We didn’t do anything wrong in there!’ He hears how high and broken his voice sounds. ‘They shouldn’t have knocked it down!’

He steps closer to the bleak building and touches the metal railing. It all seems so empty and still without the mothers, headscarves tied under their chins, winter coats held across their chests, without the coal-dusted miners, exhausted and determined, the Salvation Army with their tea, Kit Kats, and the kindness of whisky and cigarettes.

It’s all so ordinary.

An explosion behind them makes them both jump. They turn to see an old Ford Cortina race down the narrow street, the driver’s window wound down.

‘This is where they had to wait,’ William says turning back, rubbing his hand along the railing. ‘The parents.’

‘Where you had to hold up the little boy’s shirt?’

He feels the slide of warmth and the pressure around the side of his palm as Gloria slips her hand into his.

‘But it wasn’t like this.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Gloria speaks quietly, not taking her eyes from the chapel. ‘You wouldn’t want it to stay the same forever, for all the people who have to go on living here? Would you?’

He shakes his head and frowns. ‘But if none of it’s here … if it’s only in my head …’ Something is falling within himself. He sounds mad. He doesn’t want Gloria to think he’s mad. He exhales; a bark of breath. ‘It’s an adjustment.’

‘Of course it is.’ Her grip tightens. ‘But you can do it. Just like with your mum.’

‘What do you mean?’

She continues to look at the chapel. ‘You’ve realised people change; in fact, they couldn’t stay the same, even if they wanted to.’

He looks ahead too, holding her hand. He’s holding her hand. Maybe he’ll be all right.

‘I think I’ll visit the graves,’ he says, ‘but it’s a bit of a climb. Do you want to sit in the car, or on that bench in the playground?’

‘No, I’ll come.’ She looks at him. ‘I’ll just have to take it slow.’

They walk back up the side street and turn left, away from the memorial garden and community centre and then right onto the lane that leads to the mountainside cemetery. The oldest graves sit at the bottom, skewed and sunken; grey, green and white with lichen and moss. But higher up the mountain, white semi-circles loop their way across the slope in two long rows; giant Polo mints, bright against the sky. William wants to run to them, but it would look odd and Gloria is by his side, so he slows his step and stares ahead.

‘Bloody hell, don’t they like their hills?’ Hands on hips, Gloria breathes heavily for a few seconds before starting again.