She held herself together for a few seconds more then, like a blasted chimney stack, her knees buckled and she crumpled in a vertical descent, and before Jack could catch her she was spread across the floorboards, lamenting her loss.

‘Mam …’ Her name escaped him as a broken whisper. He reached for her, but she blindly slapped him away, sobbing her daughter’s name. Jack relished the sting on his flesh. He backed towards the doorway, tripping up the steps to his own room. A gauze of tears obscured his vision as he made his way to the stairs. He descended with reckless speed, his heel slipping off the edge of a tread so that he bumped to the bottom on his rear, but he cared not for the sharp pain in his back. He hauled himself up and, battling emotion, groped his way to the front door.

The boys in the street gave him a wide berth, instinctively detecting from his harried movements and stricken features that now was not the time to provoke him. When he reached the main road, he dodged around pedestrians and crossed recklessly before a delivery van, earning a blast of its horn, but he didn’t care. He only wanted one thing – to get to the Queen Victoria before it was too late. He ran down side alleys and back lanes, using every shortcut he knew, until he arrived, breathless, before the pub’s etched windows. He paused only to catch his breath, before shoving the door open and stepping inside.

It was full, as he had expected. Men clustered around squat tables, all pointed knees and sharp elbows as they leant forward in conversation. Barks of laughter carried above the deep hum of voices. Tobacco smoke filled the air and men lined the length of the bar. A few drinkers hailed Jack as he paused inside the door. The Queen Victoria was a regular haunt for shipyard workers and the establishment gratefully accepted a goodly portion of their weekly wages. But Jack failed to acknowledge any of the faces he knew. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as his breathing steadied, then began to shoulder his way through the throng, constantly searching for the one man he had come to find.

‘Alreet, Jack? Let me stand you a pint.’ Jack’s arm was grabbed from the right. He whirled around, his left fist already clenched, but he checked himself as Ben’s beaming face came into view, though the man’s broad smile quickly faded. ‘You all right, man?’

He shook his friend’s hand from his arm. ‘No. No I’m not.’ He moved off, pressing into the wall of backs before him, but Ben tugged on him again. He came in close, his voice low.

‘Jesus, man, what’s wrong?’