And yet, he has no desire to move on, even though he knows it would be wiser – safer – to do so. Something dormant had stirred deep inside him as he exchanged his first words with Gwen, and a peculiar peace had soothed his troubled soul as he traversed the land with Jim. He struggles to understand it, and certainly cannot explain it, this deep-seated knowledge that somehow the axis of his world has changed and his forward course has forever been altered. He has never believed in fate and yet now, standing in this kitchen, his eyes straining against the wan light, he feels he has stepped onto an inevitable path, one he could not have avoided even if he had tried. It is as if the terrible events of the past twenty-four hours have led him here – though for what purpose, he cannot even begin to fathom.

A noise from beyond the kitchen catches his attention and his thoughts spring to Gwen. He takes a careful step forward over the flagstone floor. The door to the hall hangs open and he hears again a rustle of movement, followed by the creak of a chair and a soft sigh. His heart stutters as he steps up into the hall, aware the sounds come from the room to his immediate right.

‘Oh, you startled me!’ Gwen cries, catching sight of him in the doorway as she sits before an open roll-top desk. She laughs, mocking her own skittishness as she swiftly folds the piece of paper she had been writing on, pushing it into the pocket of her skirt as she struggles to her feet. She lists to one side, the result of favouring her good foot.

‘Your dad said to come on in for a cup of tea, like.’ Embarrassed at having interrupted her, Jack lowers his eyes to his boots and in doing so realises he has trodden mud into the faded rug that lies upon the floorboards. ‘Oh God … I’m so sorry, I should have taken my boots off at the door …’

‘Oh, don’t worry.’ She hobbles forward, apparently welcoming the distraction. ‘It happens all the time, Dad’s forever traipsing in muck, it drives Muriel mad.’ She gabbles breathlessly, pinpricks of colour warming her cheeks. She falls silent with an embarrassed smile. ‘Let’s go back through to the kitchen and I’ll pop the kettle on,’ she says at last, calmer now.

He stands aside to let her lead the way on her hop-cum-hobble, but when they are in the kitchen he pulls out a chair for her and, ignoring all protests, insists on filling the kettle himself. Muriel and Jim come in just as he is setting it upon the range.