Back towards the entrance there was even more of a crush to register than before. The lengthening, folded-back queues looked less patient than before, and there seemed to be a large number of wounded and their families being earned straight past and into the theatre.

Ted put down his case and leaned to talk to Jack. “Now then,” he said. “I know I complained at that lady.”

“But you were wrong.”

“Yes, I was wrong. Logging everybody in is one of the most important things that can happen here.”

“Without that, mum can’t find us.”

“That’s right. Are you any use with a computer?”

“What model? What language? I know C++, mark-up—”

“Never mind.” He pointed. “You see the wee girl over there.” It was the teenage runner he’d noticed before, carrying registration slips to a pc. The table where the pc was set up was piled high with unentered slips.

Jack nodded uncertainly.

“Say I sent you. Say you’ll help her with her forms. If she’ll let you type in the stuff, fine. If she just wants you to bring her the forms, well, that’s fine too.”

“All right, Granddad.” The lad looked dubious. Probably he was more doubtful about the prospect of approaching a fourteen-year-old girl, Ted reflected, than getting involved in the greatest evacuation exercise in Britain since wartime. At that, Ted envied him.

“But the first thing you can do is bring her a cup of tea. Or a Coke, or whatever. And the lady on the desk there too.”

“Where will I get the tea?”

“Do I look as if I know? You’ll find it, lad.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to see the manager.” He bent, painfully, and looked Jack in the face. “But you listen. I’ll be right here, in this theatre. You’ll be able to find me any time you want me.”

“And you can find me too, Granddad.”

He nodded. “I’ll take you up on that. And your mother will be along soon. But for now, we’ve got work to do.”

Ted ruffled the lad’s hair and, taking care not to look back, he turned and limped off to find the manager’s office.

The door of the theatre manager’s office was open; a small, harassed-looking woman was shouting into a phone about how she didn’t have the resources to handle this, not to mention a complete lack of training, and if something wasn’t done about it soon… First bad sign, Ted thought. Should be a line of people at this door, waiting for instructions. This woman isn’t running anything but a phone bill.

“Excuse me,” he said.

She put her hand over her phone and scowled. “Who are you?”

“Ted Dundas.” He flashed his old, now blood-stained warrant card.

“Retired,” she said wearily.

“But not deactivated.”

“Mr Dundas—”

“Ted.”

“I think I have all the help I can handle right now.”