She stood and retrieved them, holding them out to snip the thread for me, then sat back down.

‘Thanks.’

I hung the jacket back in the narrow closet, which was getting quite stuffed now with my things. I would have to see if I could fit Jack’s shirts into his trunk as well.

Mum cleared her throat. Her hands were clasped in her lap. ‘Would you tell me, Sarah, if you saw anything funny?’

‘What do you mean?’ I didn’t look at her, but stood brushing the snipped bits of thread off my coverlet.

‘Your father—if you saw him with another woman, would you tell me, or would you keep a secret for him?’

I looked at her now, trying to digest what she had said. It was several long moments before I could reply. ‘Surely you can’t be serious, Mum. Dad? What woman in her right mind would want him?’

Mum blinked and her eyes filled with tears. ‘There’s no need to be cruel, Sarah. I just have some—’ she sniffed, pulled a hanky from inside her blouse and pressed it to her nose —‘some suspicions.’

The idea was absurd. Mum must have finally gone completely batty, I decided, what with sitting beside the radio night after night waiting to hear some news of Fred. But she was right; I shouldn’t be cruel. I didn’t want to cause her further grief.

‘Tell me why you’re suspicious,’ I said, humouring her.

She cleared her throat and sat forwards. ‘You know how he always goes to the Town Hall or the Royal to drink, and then on a Wednesday to the harness racing and Friday the dogs?’

I nodded. I had gone to each of these places on various occasions to bring him home before he spent the week’s rent, and had learned to assume a lighthearted tone to keep him from getting angry. Mum sent me because Jack would just be roped into drinking with him.

‘Well, last night when you were out with your friends from the office, Jack dropped round from the barracks.’

‘I didn’t know.’