Gwen begins to push her way through the main bar, her stomach knotting. The rational part of her knows he must be here somewhere, tucked into a corner, perhaps playing with other children from the village, but then it dawns on her that since their arrival she has seen no other children. They have all been left at home. She is the only mother irresponsible enough to drag her son out after bedtime to enjoy the frivolities of the victory celebration. She curses herself for allowing Nora to sway her. Setting her glass down on a table, she continues to work her way through the crowd, asking all those she knows if they have seen Tom. Their blank expressions elevate her fears. She thinks it is the stinging smoke that brings tears to her eyes, but she cannot be sure.

The back door of the bar hangs open offering a tantalising glimpse of golden light, and it suddenly strikes her that the inviting glimmer of evening sun might have enticed Tom into the garden – a quiet place of respite from the overwhelming noise. She begins to make her way towards the door and when she finds herself snagged by the hands of well-meaning neighbours, she pauses only long enough to ask, ‘Have you seen Tom?’ before moving on, blood pulsing through her veins.

When she at last escapes outside, the deafening babble drops away and all she can hear is the faint hum of the bumblebees on the flowering heathers that border the path before her.

The rear garden is empty. Faint snatches of conversation carry from the front lawn where villagers continue to mingle, but here, behind the pub, there is no one to be seen. Her only company is a speckled thrush that flutters onto the wall, from where it observes her with a curious tilt of its head.

‘Gwen.’

She wheels around. A cry escapes her as Tom comes running towards her, a big grin plastered across his face, unaware of her terror which dissipates as she scoops him up in her arms, his feet flying clear of the ground.

‘Oh, Tom! You scared me half to death, I didn’t know where you’d gone!’ She looks past his shoulder at the man standing behind him and smiles. ‘Thank you, Ted. He was with me one minute and gone the next. I was worried sick.’

‘I caught him going off for a little walk, so I thought I’d best bring him back.’ The man smiles, jangling the change in his trouser pockets. He is tall and broadly built, and his leathery skin is walnut brown from the sun. ‘I think he found it a bit loud inside, didn’t you, Tom?’

The boy slides free from Gwen’s grasp, his feet landing on the path. He looks back at his rescuer and grins, brazen with familiarity – fondness even. Gwen ruffles his hair, her relief subsiding.

‘I know how you feel, Tom.’