The soldier grinned.

‘Gi’us a mug and a wad for the sergeant,’ he said, to someone in the lorry.

A tin mug of scalding black tea and a brick-thick sandwich were handed out.

‘Much obliged,’ said the policeman, taking them. He leaned against the lorry. ‘How’s it going, then?’ he said. ‘Haven’t heard a bang.’

‘It’s a 25-pounder,’ said the soldier. ‘Went right down through the cellar floor. You lot took a real pounding last night, eh? Want a look?’

‘Is it safe?’

‘’Course not,’ said the soldier cheerfully. ‘That’s why we’re here, right? Come on.’ He pinched out his cigarette and put it behind his ear.

‘I thought you lot’d be guarding it,’ said the policeman.

‘It’s two in the morning and it’s been pissing down,’ said the soldier. ‘Who’s going to steal an unexploded bomb?’

‘Yes, but …’ The sergeant looked in the direction of the ruined street.

There was the sound of bricks sliding.

‘Someone is, by the sound of it,’ he said.

‘What? We’ve got warning signs up!’ said the soldier. ‘We only knocked off for a brew-up! Oi!’

Their boots crunched on the rubble that had been strewn across the road.

‘It is safe, isn’t it?’ said the sergeant.

‘Not if someone drops a dirty great heap of bricks on it, no! Oi! You!’

The moon came out from behind the clouds. They could make out a figure at the other end of what remained of the street, near the wall of the pickle factory.

The sergeant skidded to a halt.

‘Oh, no,’ he whispered. ‘It’s Mrs Tachyon.’

The soldier stared at the small figure that was dragging some sort of cart through the rubble.

‘Who’s she?’

‘Let’s just take it quietly, shall we?’ said the policeman, grabbing his arm.

He shone his torch and set his face into a sort of mad friendly grin.

‘That you, Mrs Tachyon?’ he said. ‘It’s me, Sergeant Bourke. Bit chilly to be out at this time of night, eh? Got a nice warm cell back at the station, yes? I daresay there could be a big hot mug of cocoa for you if you just come along with me, how about that?’

‘Can’t she read all them warning signs? Is she mental?’ said the soldier, under his breath. ‘She’s right by the house with the bomb in the cellar!’

‘Yes … no … she’s just different,’ said the sergeant. ‘Bit … touched.’ He raised his voice. ‘You just stay where you are, love, and we’ll come and get you. Don’t want you hurting yourself on all this junk, do we?’

‘Here, has she been looting?’ said the soldier. ‘She could get shot for that, pinching stuff from bombed-out houses!’

‘No one’s going to shoot Mrs Tachyon,’ said the sergeant. ‘We know her, see? She was in the cells the other night.’

‘What’d she done?’

‘Nothing. We let her kip in a spare cell in the station if it’s a nippy night. I gave her a tanner and pair of ole boots what belong to me mum only yesterday. Well, look at her. She’s old enough to be your granny, poor old biddy.’