They go in via the back door. There is a muted hubbub as Gwen and Nora rid themselves of their boots and Tom chucks off his wellies before running to hide in the front room. Jack sets his kitbag down in the corner and unties his laces, as Gwen snatches up the kettle from the range. She fills it at the sink, then plants it on the hotplate before lighting the paraffin. Another change, Jack notes without comment – the coal-burning range replaced in the name of economy.

Nora brings a cut fruit cake and a jug of the morning’s milk out of the larder and sets them upon the table, while Jack hangs back, absorbing every aspect of the familiar interior. He is overcome by a joyful sense of belonging he knows he has no right to feel. Gwen’s frostiness reminds him that even though he might long to consider it as such, this is not his home; he has no claim upon it. He does not even have the right to be here and yet he could not have stayed away. He watches Gwen as she takes the whistling kettle from the flame. For so many reasons, he could not have stayed away.

‘Take a seat, Jack, you must be exhausted.’ Nora draws out a chair and gestures him into it. He glances at Gwen and when she shows no objection – indeed, she does not look at him at all – he settles himself down. ‘I thought all you demobbed boys were supposed to get a suit?’ Nora continues. He cannot tell whether she is unaware of the simmering tension in the room or simply entertained by it. She slides him the mug that Gwen has poured.

‘Aye well, let’s just say the old demob suit wasn’t up to much, so me and some of the lads decided we’d rather keep with the uniform.’ He takes the proffered milk jug. ‘I’ve kind of got used to it, I suppose,’ he adds softly. ‘It’s done me proud.’

They drink their tea and pick at slender slices of cake in awkward silence. Gwen’s relief is evident as she looks at the clock.

‘Time for milking.’

Nora stands up and begins to gather up the mugs. Jack pushes back his chair.

‘I can help—’

‘No need,’ Gwen cuts him off. She already has the back door open, waiting for Nora, who glances between them, eyebrows hiked.

‘Mummy! I want to come!’ Tom races through from the hall and it crosses Jack’s mind that he has been listening, out of sight, the whole time. He darts Jack a guarded look as he snatches up his wellies from the floor, putting them on in record time to join Nora outside. Gwen draws the door to behind her.