The insistent call of his name startles him from his reverie. Jim is standing a short distance away before a red-striped tent in the company of Ted and another couple. He arcs his arm to catch Jack’s attention and, raising his own hand in acknowledgement, Jack starts towards him. His steps slacken as the couple turn to greet him. It takes him a minute to place the man – he looks different out of uniform – but by the time he realises it is Constable Jennings, and the woman beside him presumably his Durham-born wife, it is too late to walk away.

‘And here he is.’ Vic Jennings holds out his arm to gather Jack in. ‘Come on, lad, I want you to meet someone. I know you’ll make her day.’

There is not a cloud in the sky and yet a cold chill insinuates itself up Jack’s back and his sweat-dampened skin turns to ice. He musters a smile which even to him feels thin and insubstantial and certainly no match for the broad beam that brightens Mrs Jennings’ eager features. She is shorter than the constable, and large. She playfully swats her husband’s chest and the fatty flesh sagging from under the short sleeves of her cotton dress quivers.

‘Oh, Vic, you are a daft bugger.’

The accent of home jars for Jack. Its cadence is out of place here and brings him no comfort. It reminds him of things he’d sooner forget.

‘No, come on now, Iris,’ her husband chides, ‘how many times have you said to me you get sick of hearing our bland southern voices and yearn for a good old northern accent?’

‘Well, yes, I do love to hear the northern intonation every now and then, that’s true.’ She smiles at Jack. The warmth of her attention is almost unbearable. ‘So, tell me – Jack, is it? – whereabouts are you from? I’ve family all over the north-east so I’m bound to know it!’

‘Sunderland.’ This time he stumbles over the lie. It rises unexpectedly to trip him. Her presence has rendered the landscape uneven and the level path he has been confidently treading is suddenly fractured and dangerous.

‘Sunderland? I have family there! Whereabouts in Sunderland?’

‘By the infirmary.’

Every large town has an infirmary, he thinks. He hopes it will be the end of the matter, but her eyes widen with interest.

‘Oh really – which area? Tunstall, Hendon?’

He schools his features. He does not know if there are two infirmaries, or whether one infirmary sits in the middle of the two areas she has mentioned. Tunstall or Hendon. He fights the urge to lick his lips.

‘Tunstall.’ He sees at once from her flash of surprise that he has guessed incorrectly.