He clicked on BBC News again, scrolled through pictures of a street of shops in flames, a mounted policeman, face bloodied, helmet gone. Even the ANA had heard about it, the interpreter raising an eyebrow at him at breakfast, as if to say, Welcome to our world.

Delphine would have something to say about all this.

He stared at his reflection in the window. A hundred metres away, he saw a small glow of light. It flickered once, then twice more – a lighter, perhaps. Maybe a cigarette would help. After a long abstinence he’d lapsed, then promised Delphine he’d stop. That had lasted about three days. A pair of Ospreys thundered overhead, landing lights off to deter enemy fire, yet plain to see from all the light thrown up by the base. It was huge: as big as Reading, its air traffic busier than Gatwick’s. Brits, Americans, Danes and the fledgling Afghan National Army were all here. The ANA were in charge now, the end in sight for the Coalition, though it didn’t feel much like it.

The aircon stuttered to a stop and, in a matter of moments, the room heated up to an uncomfortable level. Great. Fucking perfect.

The laptop came to life. Delphine was there.

‘Hey, babe.’ Seeing her lifted his spirits instantly.

‘Bonsoir, mon chéri.’

She blew him a kiss. He blew one back. Why did this make him think of prison visits?

‘You’ve caught the sun again.’

‘Hard not to – it’s up to forty-five.’

Neither of them had got the hang of this.

‘How’s your day going?’

‘Oh, you know. Same old.’

Her colloquial English was coming on. But it was clear something was wrong. She looked tired and drawn and, although she’d probably touched her face up for the chat, he could see her eyes were red from crying.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Tom, it’s not good here. I don’t like it, what’s happening – all this trouble, I don’t feel safe.’

‘It’s just people letting off steam, taking advantage.’

Instantly he felt the shallow gloss of his words. ‘There’ll be nothing like that where you are, trust me.’

Her shoulders rose and she let out a dismissive sigh. ‘You say that, but people right here in the bar, they’re saying terrible things about what should happen to the protesters. It’s all so ugly.’

Delphine was right. It was ugly, but the chances of her coming to any harm at the Green Dragon in Hereford were less than zero. The lads back at the Lines would see to that. He’d told a couple of them to look out for her.