He was someone else that might be lost. For the first time in her life, Vivian felt a softening towards her mother. She didn’t know how to convey as much. Voicing her empathy was out of the question, and the making of cups of tea could be interpreted as common courtesy rather than a heartfelt expression of compassion, so Mrs Foster remained unaware of the change in feeling and therefore naturally continued with her usual mode of behaviour – cool indifference.

It was not clear exactly what the Fosters hoped to achieve from the visit until the very last day. They were sitting together in the parlour, reading papers and books, whiling away half an hour before it was time for the car to take them back to London.

‘Damn,’ yelled Toby abruptly, flinging The Times aside.

‘Who is it?’ asked Vivian anxiously. Her first thought: whose name had he stumbled upon on the casualty list?

‘It’s going to be over soon. Before I even get there!’

‘I hope you are right,’ she replied emphatically. He scowled, reminding everyone of the petulant boy who’d sulked if he lost at snakes and ladders.

Mrs Foster looked over her reading glasses. ‘I do think you are a very brave boy, of course, but I can’t help hoping that you’ll be given duties here in England.’

‘No, not that. Can you imagine? What a tragedy.’ He shook his head, irritated by the suggestion, as though her merely saying it might condemn him to such a fate. If only. How many mothers would have loved to have that power? ‘I’ll be all right, Mother. Look at Aubrey. He’s done the duration. A hero.’ Toby looked childishly buoyant. Zealous. He licked his lips and turned to Vivian. ‘In fact, Vivian, I was wondering whether you could ask Aubrey to have a word with the powers that be. Someone in his position could surely have me out there lickety-split. Don’t you think? Well, you must.’

‘I—’ Vivian wasn’t given a chance to say what she did think.

‘I mean, it would be so bloody to be this close and miss out. Utter humiliation.’

Vivian felt cool and saddened. Had her brother wanted to see her at all, or was his visit motivated by a belief that she could sway Aubrey? The confirmation of Aubrey’s power and position and the esteem her family felt for his standing was horrible to her.

Toby sighed with exasperation, ‘I hate gloom,’ he said firmly, as others might state they hated cheats or drunks. As she might state she hated parsnips. He left the room to go and see about the car.

Mrs Foster exhaled heavily. ‘He’s still desperate to do his bit. It makes no sense. It’s not like in the beginning when we thought . . . well, we all thought differently.’ Then they had been proud and keen. Ignorant. She looked over her reading glasses and held Vivian’s stare. ‘It’s so awful that all these young men have to go to war. An entire generation. I curse the Hun. Every last one.’ There were butchers, traitors and sick psychos, honest men, brave men and heroes on both sides, her mother must know that. Just couldn’t say it, perhaps. Vivian said nothing either. ‘I understand that boys like Toby think it’s rather grand to have a purpose and such, but losing them . . . it’s against the natural order. I think they all ought to be here at home being self-centred and self-indulgent like normal young people. Like we were.’