She feels a tug of concern when they fail to return by the time she has completed her task. The enticing smell of frying bacon is wafting through the open kitchen window – a decided benefit of partaking in the pig club – but rather than go in to see Muriel, Gwen wanders down to the gate. She looks up the empty lane, wondering where they might be. She is about to turn back when something catches her eye. Her stomach lurches, and for a moment she is catapulted back in time. A brick juts out from the gatepost.

At first, she persuades herself it is nothing – that it is the angle she is standing at which makes the brick appear proud. She alters her position; the brick signals to her still.

She decides it must be Tom’s doing – he has noticed it is loose and fiddled with it out of curiosity. She will not touch it. But she knows, deep inside, it is not Tom’s handiwork. Her body begins to shake, as if she has heard the wail of an air-raid siren. The signal before her denotes just as much peril.

Her fingers tremble as they close over the coarse brick. It scrapes her skin as she wriggles it loose and, just as she feared, she sees a fold of paper skulking behind it. Though she knows no good can come of her actions, she feels compelled to retrieve it.

The paper is crisp and thick – good quality – folded in half and then folded again. She looks up and down the lane to ensure no one is coming, for she has no desire to be caught with this missive. Her concern for Tom and Nora is temporarily forgotten.

She stifles a moan as she summons the courage to open it. There was a time when she would have eagerly ripped such a note apart, desperate to devour the words it contained, but now she feels only terror. Biting her lip so sharply she tastes blood, she unfolds the paper.

We need to talk.

Usual place, 8 p.m.

About the boy.

Her stomach spasms and bile scorches the back of her throat. She grips the top of the gatepost, heaving, though nothing comes out. Her panic refuses to be purged.

About the boy.

‘Mummy! Mummy!’

She spins around at the sound of Tom’s voice and her heart fills with love at the sight of him. Tears spring to her eyes as, fighting back a sob, she drops to a crouch and welcomes him into her embrace, crushing him against her until he wriggles to get free.

‘You took your time! What kept you?’ she says, relief giving way to annoyance as Nora comes sauntering up behind.

‘Mummy, I sat on a motorbike!’

‘What?’

‘It was really fun, and the man said I should learn to ride a bicycle so that I can have a motorbike one day. Can I have a bicycle, Mummy?’