‘Why are you telling me this?’ She sounded bruised. He had a moment’s doubt. What if he was wrong about her interest in Jack? But he’d started now. And he’d not forgotten her hesitancy when he asked her if she wanted to go to London with him.

‘Because like everyone else he’s got you fooled. You, Peter, the whole bloody town thinks he’s so great. He’s not what you think he is. If you knew what he was really like, you wouldn’t hang onto his every word.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said. Her voice was brittle and hard.

‘Yes you do. You must see it. He’s like it with all the girls, Verity. Not just you. You’re not special.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’ She had withdrawn, shrunk into the shadow of the wall.

‘He’s not a gentleman,’ he said.

‘And how would you know?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘I have no idea.’ He turned away from her.

‘And what do I think he is?’

‘A bloody hero.’

‘Oh hardly,’ she said, but her face was red. ‘Go on then, tell me what horrors you’ve discovered.’

‘He lied to us about where he’s from,’ he said. ‘All that rot about deserts and horses and canyons. All rubbish. I’ve always thought it sounded too clichéd, like from a cowboy film. And his accent’s all wrong. Well, I found out. He’s from New York State.’ Each word came out like a globule of spit that he wanted to get out of his mouth and he could feel his hatred bubbling up.

‘I know about that,’ she said, but he heard her voice catch. It served her right.

‘We don’t even know how old he is,’ he went on.

‘He’s our age,’ she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. It hardly added up, couldn’t she see? Jack had slipped out something about Korea and Germany to Peter, and although he’d backtracked, Arthur thought that if he’d seen that much service then he must be older than them.

He turned away from her and was going to leave when he stopped.

‘I’m worried about you, Ver,’ he said.

‘I don’t need you to look after me, Arthur.’

‘Maybe you do. I mean, your mother needed help, didn’t she, and no one helped her? I’m trying—’

‘What do you mean?’

He frowned. He lowered his voice. ‘You know it wasn’t an accident, Ver,’ he said, puncturing the bubble of pretence surrounding Mrs Frost’s death.

She said nothing, just stood there trembling. He wanted to go to her and put his arms around her but her face was distorted in rage and horror. ‘Ver—’ he began again, but she recoiled from him.

‘Please leave,’ she said.