‘Hey, come and look at this,’ said Marcia from the front.

I went to join her and saw that she was looking at a memorial for men who had died in the Second World War. At the top of the stone was a carving of a soldier, then beneath that were two long lists of names.

‘So sad,’ said Marcia as we scanned the names. ‘There are five here with the same surname. The war must have wiped out whole families and, oh … look, there he is!’

I looked at where she was pointing, on the list on the right-hand side, towards the bottom. William Jackson. ‘I wonder if his parents saw this,’ I said, ‘and did they survive the bombing of their house?’

‘And if Grace saw it? She might have stood right here where we are now,’ said Marcia.

‘I doubt it; these kinds of memorials were probably put up quite a long time after the war.’

We stood for a moment in silence. Marcia put her arm around me. ‘Sad,’ she said. ‘But I reckon he must have come in here as a boy, attended Sunday services with his parents. You might have been planning to get married in here.’

‘You mean Grace might have been and, if she was, there are much nicer churches in the area for a wedding.’

‘Ah, so you are beginning to see it as a possibility?’

‘No, not that I was Grace … but I don’t doubt her or Billy’s existence and I feel great sympathy for what they must have been through.’

‘But what about your hypnosis experience and the woman in the second mosaic?’

‘I think that was my brain putting it together. It’s no proof, Marcia. It’s not like I have her memories or came up with anything I didn’t already know or had been told. As well as the fact that I’ve been to the street where Grace lived, Billy’s street, this church, even the place that was probably their pub, and nothing resonates, not even slightly. What I am drawn to is their story.’

‘And what Grace lost.’

‘Yes, absolutely.’

Marcia looked at me closely. ‘Love was painful for her.’

‘It was.’

‘Must resonate with you that, that feeling of loss.’

‘It … and you can stop it right now,’ I said. ‘It’s a story, from the past, captured my imagination a little, end of.’

‘Sure,’ said Marcia. ‘If you say so.’ She had a smug look on her face. Smacking her over her head in a church was probably not the best place. I’d wait until we were outside.

28

‘In blue or red, sir?’ the shop assistant asked when he saw me holding up shirts against myself in a mirror.

‘Haven’t a clue.’