‘Well, I worry. As if it’s not enough having two boys enlisted in the war, I have the both of you to fret about as well.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about here. I’m too old by half to fight.’ Dad stood and took his plate and cup to the sink. ‘I’ll be outside working on the truck if anyone needs me,’ he said, adding sharply, ‘There’s no need to worry—I’ll stay within sight.’

The silence hung between us as Mum and I ate, broken only by the clink and scrape of forks. From outside came the sound of Dad filling a bucket of water from the outside tap and the slam of his truck door.

‘You’ve made up your mind, then?’ Mum said finally, looking up at me.

‘It’s not worth the worry, Mum,’ I said, as gently as I could. My voice shook a little and I wondered if she could tell I was lying; she knew me so well. ‘Dad just wouldn’t.’

Her face contorted, and it took me a few seconds to realise she was crying. I was nineteen and I’d never seen her cry before. I jumped up to fetch a clean tea towel for her, put the kettle on again to freshen up the tea and then sat beside her, stroking her back, the way she used to do for me when I was little and had a fever, her cool hand running up and down over the bumps of my spine. I could see Dad through the window, hunched over the engine of his truck, his face obscured by the bonnet.

Mum sniffled and clutched the tea towel in her fist. I wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as I could. I would rather have been Fred in a horrible jungle, surrounded by enemies, than here lying to Mum. I should move out, I thought. Get a place of my own. I rose to freshen the teapot.

Dad stomped into the kitchen, bringing the smell of petrol with him, his voice loud. ‘Have we got any more rags? Mine are all filthy.’

He saw us and stared for a dumb moment, his mouth working to chew the corner of his lip.

‘I’ll get them,’ I said. ‘Mum’s just feeling a little weary.’

I went into the broom cupboard for rags.

‘She ought to be lying down. Can you help her to bed, Sar?’ He was still gazing at Mum. ‘I think you should rest today, love. Have a lie down.’

‘Who’s going to cook your tea?’ Mum asked.

‘I’ll get it at the pub.’ The flyscreen slammed behind Dad as he went back out to the yard.

‘I’ll wash up,’ I said. ‘You go lie down for a bit.’