He finds it strange how things have changed. He misses Jim’s cap and coat, absent from the hooks by the back door. He misses the smell of coal smoke from the range and even the distinctive tang of Woodbine stubs in the ashtray. He finds Nora’s bold presence disconcerting. The kitchen strains under the pressure of her energy, her buoyant personality, as if struggling to contain her. He is glad for Muriel’s extended company, though, for since Jim’s death he learns she now stays for dinner and often lingers after. He finds her maternal disposition comforting. She, at least, is free with a ready smile. Gwen keeps her head down and her gaze averted, with whatever closeness they momentarily experienced in the tack room long forgotten – and he fears regretted.

They stop in the kitchen talking until Muriel takes her leave at half six. Jack joins Gwen, Nora and Tom in the sitting room. Gwen takes her father’s chair and turns on the wireless. Jack is left with the settee when Nora lays claim to Gwen’s old seat.

Tom scurries into the corner behind Gwen where he clearly considers himself safe from Jack. He lies on his tummy, opening a sketch pad. The scratch of his coloured pencils on the paper is interrupted by the occasional sigh and wriggle of limbs.

Gwen takes out mending from the knitting bag beside her chair and proceeds to push a darning egg into the heel of a sock. She licks the end of her thread into a sharp point, then feeds it through the eye of her needle, cutting off the excess with her teeth. Nora meanwhile is engrossed in a lengthy letter received that morning. She nibbles a broken nail as she reads, giggling as she turns the sheet over to follow the scrunched writing along.

Jack picks up the evening paper but though he unfolds the pages he has no interest in the stories it contains, and instead he uses it to conceal his observations – of Tom’s raised heels as they absently kick the air and of Gwen, her top teeth tugging at her bottom lip as she guides her needle through the sock. He has imagined such simple domestic scenes as these over the years and now he intends to enjoy them while he can, for he suspects his reprieve will be short-lived. But he will savour them gladly for now.

When the mantel clock chimes seven, Gwen puts away her darning and rises from her chair, calling Tom to bed.

‘Goodnight, Tommy boy,’ Nora says, looking up from her letter as Tom dashes to join Gwen at the door.

Jack closes the paper. He smiles at the boy. ‘Goodnight, Tom.’

But the boy merely buries his face into Gwen. She casts Jack an apologetic look, then ushers him from the room. Jack listens to the boy’s rapid ascent of the stairs.