He does not go straight in. First, he washes up at the pump, splashing his face with handfuls of icy water, hoping to remove all evidence of his tears. He dries himself on the rolled sleeve of his shirt, then uses his wet hands to smooth down his errant hair.

Gwen is hobbling around the table laying cutlery while complaining to her father about paperwork as he enters through the back door. It is Muriel’s early afternoon and she has already returned home, leaving Gwen to dish up the pie she has left in the warming oven. Jack offers to take the cutlery from her and as she relinquishes the task, their eyes meet and the knowledge of what he accidentally witnessed that morning comes between them. Her gaze slides from his, slick with guilt. Her secrecy fuels his curiosity, but he has no right to question her, so he remains silent as he sets out the places, and for that she appears grateful. Whatever she might be up to, it is clear they will not speak of it.

After they have eaten, Jim invites Jack to join them in the sitting room, just as he had the evening before. Gwen uses the broom crutch to make her way through the house, collapsing into an armchair by the unlit fire with a gusty sigh, before resting the swollen foot on a leather pouffe.

Jim retrieves the evening paper from the letterbox in the front door, the brass plate rattling as it is released. He sits across from Gwen, methodically reading every article, and when he has finished and the paper rests in his lap, Jack leans forwards in his chair and asks if he might see it. The newspaper is passed between them like a baton in a relay race – but only Jack is aware of its importance. His mouth is dry as he scans each page, alert for the words that will catch his eye and reel him in. He is immune to the other headlines that vie for his attention – there is only one story that interests him and he knows it might not be boldly splashed across a page, but lurking in some innocuous corner, so he is thorough in his task.

‘Looking for news of home?’ Jim asks, pushing himself up to retrieve his packet of cigarettes from the mantel.

‘Aye, something like that,’ Jack admits quietly, heady with a bemusing cocktail of shame and relief as he finally closes the paper, his fears allayed for another day.

Just before nine, Jim turns on the wireless to catch the BBC News. They sit in companionable silence as an elegant voice reveals developments that appear to be the next steps in the inevitable march to war. Gwen loses herself in thoughts that lie beyond the window, her fingers limp on the novel in her lap.