‘Oughtn’t we to go back into the station and help her look for her things?’ Howard asked. ‘She won’t be able to manage with both children.’ The girl could barely stand with fatigue. He and Clarke had been on the move for twenty hours; he wondered how long this family had been journeying.

‘We can’t. We might be arrested.’

‘But—’

‘There are going to be some hard decisions ahead; this is just the first.’

Howard hung his head, accepting Clarke’s point but hating it. All they could do for the woman was to buy some warm milk for the children and a coffee for her. They drank sitting on the cobblestones of the square just outside the station. Afterwards, they found a nearby furniture store whose owner let the family sleep on the floor for the night.

‘It’s not the Ritz,’ joked Howard as he looked around the chilly, dark shop. The only comfort was one blanket and one pillow between the three of them. The woman kissed the men on both cheeks. It was a graceful, careful thing to do in amongst the chaos and turmoil; she could just as easily have turned away from them, forgotten them in her exhaustion.

‘I am very happy. Grateful.’ Her English was heavily accented. ‘Goodbye.’

The men returned to the station square because they had no clue as to where else they might go. Both were wondering whether they might be able to find a bed for the night. Howard felt dizzy, surreal. He was a fit man, used to walking and late nights, but even so, his legs felt like lead weights. The foreign air, the constant travel and the mass and mix of new people made him feel light-headed, disconnected. This expedition was impetuous.

Irresponsible?

Irresistible.

The curtain at Warrington’s would have been up and down by now. Howard tried to bring to mind the smell of the costume rail, sweaty and spicy, oddly delightful, and he imagined the smell of lilies that would no doubt be in the leading lady’s dressing room, intense, heady. What had Warrington thought when he discovered his resignation letter? Was he angry? Impressed? Relieved? After all, Howard’s presence was becoming an increasing embarrassment to the theatre. There was no value in being nervous or regretful at this point; he had to press on. His thoughts were interrupted when a police officer approached demanding to know where they were from. ‘I need to see your papers, please.’ He was polite but firm.

Clarke did not answer the question; instead he asked, as though rather irritated, ‘When will the next train for Calais be?’

The officer spoke in a mix of French and broken English but Howard could understand. ‘Oh, it is impossible to get a train to Calais tonight. Impossible.’

‘But we must!’ Clarke insisted, the very picture of indignation.

‘You cannot.’

‘We must.’

‘Not possible at all.’ There followed a long explanation about the difficulties station officials, local government and police were facing keeping any sort of public transport running (all accompanied by hearty gesticulation). The armies had commissioned many vehicles. The situation was dire. Clarke and Howard nodded; they did not interrupt. ‘All you can do is find an ’otel and then set off with ’ope tomorrow.’