‘Don’t look glum, Mam. I hear we’re having tripe and onions in milk for supper tonight.’ Enid’s son sat down again and indicated she take the seat opposite him. Vivian hovered near the door. There was something decent, tender in the use of the word Mam. He’d acknowledged her, given her warmth and authority. Affection flowed between them, undeterred by his age, ideas and size, or even the thick, wet concrete walls.

‘I know they keep you on bread and water for days,’ pronounced Enid, refusing to be comforted.

‘Do they?’ Vivian didn’t mean to let the question escape but it did. Enid’s son seemed to notice her for the first time.

He smiled. His lip was cut and swollen and the thin skin underneath his eyes was purple: lack of sleep or fading bruises? Despite this, he had an air of serenity and magnanimity about him. He remained untouched. Not at all what she’d anticipated. She’d expected arrogance, a know-it-all, fire. Or a pale, effete weakling, a wet blanket, a limp handshake, sloppy. He was neither thing.

‘Only if we misbehave.’

‘By which he means if they talk or sing. Then they are starved,’ stated Enid, casting a wary glance at the guard.

It didn’t sound right. It didn’t sound very British. But then Vivian had to remember that what this man was doing wasn’t very British. For all he looked harmless, he was an oddball. A troublemaker. However, he jumped up and indicated that Vivian must take his seat, a gesture that seemed superior, polished. At the very least courteous, considerate. She shook her head. ‘I’m happy to stand. We’ve been sitting on the train for ever such a long time.’

‘This is Mrs Owens. I’ve written to you about her. She’s here to help.’

His face did not flicker with any recognition. It occurred to Vivian that he might not have received his mother’s letters; she knew that he’d never sent any in return and they’d often wondered why.

‘Are you a lawyer, Mrs Owens?’

He knew that was not possible. ‘No.’

‘A doctor? A magistrate?’

‘I’m a woman.’ So of course she couldn’t be any of the things he mentioned. Defensively she added, ‘A friend.’

‘I see.’ He smirked, and it seemed to Vivian that he was dismissing her as no possible earthly help. He’d looked at her cream dress, her gloves, her parasol and made an assumption. He thought she was a sightseer, a ghoul. Someone who had latched on to his mother to get a better look at him. For Enid’s sake, she smiled politely and didn’t allow him to rile her. She had a job to do, yet the sense that he thought she was intruding was palpable.

‘Would it be better if I waited outside?’

‘If you didn’t mind,’ he replied.

Enid was emphatic. ‘No, stay with us.’

Vivian hesitated, torn, embarrassed. The room smelt dank. There was no window to throw in any natural light, and they relied on just one electric bulb that hung on a cord over the middle of the table. The place was shrouded in an atmosphere of hostility and violence; Vivian had to remind herself that they were on military property, this place was run by the good men in khaki uniforms who were fighting for her.