His men were coming towards him. He wanted to call to them that he was okay but for some reason his voice wasn’t working. He could hear Robbo, taking charge, yelling at everyone not to move around so much before they’d checked the ground for more IEDs. A man was kneeling heavily on his groin, and now Chris knew he’d been hurt, because a textbook scrap of battlefield first aid drifted into his mind: apply weight to pinch off femoral artery and slow the bleeding. Was he bleeding? He must be: another guy was sliding a combat tourniquet up his leg and winding it viciously tight with the windlass. And here, here was the pain, and there was his own voice, screaming for morphine. Somebody dropped a boot on the ground nearby. There was something wrong with it; it looked as if it had been burned. But why would anyone be changing their socks at a time like this? Chris stared at the boot. It seemed oddly familiar. The second-from-top eyelet on the left hand side was broken. Now why was that significant? He wanted to remember but thinking was so hard, and it was nicer, after all, to just go to sleep…

Ten

A week after his return from Normandy, Callum was sitting alone in his classroom marking a pile of Year 5 homework when a large woman wearing a multi-coloured sweater with small pom-pons round the neckline knocked on the door.

‘Mr Dempster? You remember me? I’m Elsa Witrand, Sophie’s mother. Have you heard?’ she said, striding towards his desk. ‘Sophie got a scholarship! Nothing major, just an exhibition, in fact – but we’re delighted.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Callum got up to shake her hand. ‘Though I’m hardly surprised; she and Karl Huber are streets ahead of the rest of the class, in Latin at least.’

‘Yes, she did particularly well in her Latin paper,’ gushed Mrs Witrand. She pulled her long brown plait over one shoulder and rubbed its scrubby tip between her fingers. ‘And I know she’s just loved your Greek classes. In fact, I think you’re something of a hero for Sophie. She hasn’t stopped talking about your trip to France all week.’

‘Well, I was really just a tag-along on that trip. But I’m very pleased to hear that Sophie enjoyed herself,’ said Callum. ‘She’s a special young lady.’

‘Which is why I was wondering,’ Mrs Witrand continued, fixing him with a stare, ‘if you’d be willing to do one of your pictures for us, of Sophie. The Halls said you did a terrific portrait of Ludo, and I actually saw the one of the Knight twins and their dog, I thought that was really charming.’

‘Of course, I’d love to,’ said Callum warmly. ‘Just Sophie, or a family group?’

‘Oh, you don’t want to draw an old bag like me,’ Mrs Witrand laughed.