She cannot resist the temptation to look in on Tom. He sleeps peacefully, his thumb fallen free of his mouth, his cheeks flushed with the cosy warmth of his bed. She has never seen him look sweeter; she has never been so aware of his vulnerability. She wishes a German bullet had served to protect her son and is immediately ashamed of her callousness.

Muriel cycles into the yard just as the first of the cattle appear in the lane. She enters the house full of gossip from the night before, but Gwen cuts her off mid-sentence.

‘Do you think Tom looks like me?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Does Tom look like I did, at his age … as a child?’

‘Well, I … well, of course there’s bound to be a look of you about him …’

‘But I mean more than that.’

‘I … I don’t know, I never thought about it … he has your eyes. I’ve always said that.’

‘But he isn’t the spit of me.’

Muriel blusters. ‘Well, no, not exactly.’

‘Do you … do you think …’ But Gwen cannot bring herself to finish her question. She is too afraid to hear the answer.

‘Gwen, love, what on earth is it?’

‘Gordon Allingham …’

‘Oh yes. He’s back, of course.’

‘He saw us … last night, leaving the victory party … the two of us. He saw Tom.’

‘Oh.’ Muriel sits heavily on the chair beside her. ‘Oh, I see. And did he … did he say anything?’

Gwen shakes her head. ‘But he saw us.’

‘Look, Gwen … I can see why you’re worried, but … it’s been nearly six years.’

‘Does Tom look like him?’

‘No!’

‘What if he looked like Tom as a child … what if …’

‘Don’t waste your time on what ifs.’ Muriel leaps up, leaning into hands firmly planted on the table. Conscious of her raised voice she glances up at the ceiling to where the very boy sleeps above them. ‘You’re a married woman,’ she continues quietly. ‘You were married before that boy was born and you knew your husband in time for him to be the father. That’s all that matters. No one has ever questioned that boy’s parentage, not for one minute. You stick to your story and there’ll be no need to worry about Gordon Allingham. Do you hear me? Don’t you start to wobble, because folk will sniff you out and there’s many around here with nothing better to do than put two and two together and gossip about the five they make.’