‘All right then.’ He stands. Offering her his hand, he pulls her up. He tilts his watch towards the light slanting through the hall doors. It is half past eleven. Half an hour, he thinks, what harm is there in that? He wonders if he should ask to speak to Gordon, man to man, to look him in the eye and check for himself that his intentions are honourable, but even as the thought crosses his mind, he realises it is ridiculous. ‘You must leave at midnight though, Gwen, and come straight home. That was the agreement you made with your dad.’

‘Oh, Jack! I will, I promise. Thank you.’ She lurches forward and plants her lips on his cheek. It is so fleeting he wonders if he imagined it, but his skin is seared by her touch and its burn confirms he did not. ‘You’re a brick, Jack.’ She rewards him with a beautiful smile and he knows he is lost, adrift in an ocean he has no chance of navigating, on a journey he is not even sure he can survive.

She spins away, her full skirt lapping against his leg before receding like sea surf.

‘Gwen.’

She turns back.

‘Here.’ He delves into his pocket, then holds out his hand. She cocks her head, an uncertain smile on her lips as she offers him her open palm.

‘Oh!’ She looks down at the little wooden bird he has placed into her care. It is accurately sized and carved with unsuspected skill. She lifts it up to examine, her expression wondrous, as if she were holding not a wooden creation but the real thing, for it is flawless and so realistic that for a moment she might believe he has by some magic delivered a live bird into her hand. ‘It’s a nuthatch.’ Their eyes meet over its exquisitely painted body, the blue-grey back the colour of a stormy sky, while its underside is reminiscent of a setting sun and the black-banded eyes a streak of night. She touches the sharp tip of its pointed bill. ‘Jack! It’s perfect. You never made this?’

He pushes his hands into his trouser pockets. The shrug he offers is bashful and modest.

‘You said they were your favourite …’ he says at last. ‘I was just whittling some wood to pass the time.’