She led him into the back room. French windows opened to the garden and John spotted Arthur at the end, putting up a greenhouse with the help of a young lad. His daughter was running across the lawn towards him. He couldn’t hear the conversation but saw him nod, say something to the boy as his daughter took hold of his hand and ran back, pulling him across the lawn. John stepped through the door.

‘Good Lord, sir,’ Arthur said. ‘Good heavens.’ He wiped his hand down his trousers and held it out. ‘It’s a bit rough, I’m afraid. But what an unexpected pleasure.’

John grasped his hand, looking at his old friend. His auburn hair had lost some of its vibrancy, but his eyebrows were a rich ginger, his blue eyes unchanged.

‘Well,’ he was saying. ‘Well. I can’t believe this.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘Go and tell Bobby to come here. Can I get you a cup of tea, sir? Or maybe this warrants something stronger?’

‘Please.’ John felt a weight lift away. ‘None of this “sir” business now. We’re not in the army. It’s John.’

The boy came into the room.

‘Shoes off,’ his mother said.

‘This is John Harris,’ Arthur said. ‘Bravest man I ever met. I told you the story of how he took that grenade and ran with it half a mile? Saved all our lives. Do you remember?’

John shook his head, laughing. ‘Your father’s exaggerating,’ he said. ‘Who are all of you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m too taken aback. Introductions, of course. This is my wife, Gladys.’

John smiled, took her hand. ‘So pleased to meet you.’

‘This is Robert.’ He pointed to the boy, as tall as his father but without his father’s colouring. ‘And this is Christine.’ She had her father’s complexion, his red hair and freckles and she grinned back at him, grown-up teeth too large for her child’s face.

‘Please,’ Arthur said. ‘Please, come and sit down. Make yourself at home.’

He pointed to two chairs by the fireplace, shielded by an embroidered screen.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Gladys said. ‘Christine, come and help me. Robert, finish outside. And take the dog with you.’

‘I still can’t believe it,’ Arthur said. ‘You finding me, you sitting here.’

‘Nice place you’ve got,’ John said, taking in the sideboard and the table, the Vernon Ward picture above the mantelpiece.

‘My wife moved here,’ Arthur said. ‘And now we’re buying it. A miracle.’

‘What line are you in now?’ John said.

‘Well.’ Arthur leaned back in his chair, grinning. ‘I trained to be a teacher. Never thought that would happen, eh? A boy like me, leaving school at fourteen. But they were short of them, and turned out I had the makings – ex-serviceman, full matriculation. I’m the geography master, Welling Secondary Modern.’ Arthur laughed. ‘Tickled pink, you coming here.’