‘Nightmares?’ She breathes the word, filling it with a seductive appeal it should not possess. She moves nearer. Jack’s retreat into the corner is subtle but she spots it all the same and smiles a slow, languorous smile as she continues her advance. ‘If I heard you have a nightmare … I would want to comfort you.’

She is now so close he can smell the musky perfume radiating from her warm skin. He looks up into her eyes as she reaches out to skim her fingertips across the bristles on his cheek, filling the taut silence between them with a soft rasp. She appears intoxicated, but he is aware something far stronger than alcohol courses through her veins. The tips of her fingers fall from the cliff edge of his jaw onto the plane of his chest, where they continue to flow ever downwards. He draws in his breath. And places his hand upon hers to prevent its descent.

‘Go back to bed, Nora.’

‘Move over then.’

He smiles despite himself. It is impossible not to be impressed by her audacity. ‘This isn’t what you want …

‘I think it is …’ She leans in so her breath teases his lips.

‘Well, it’s certainly not what I want. I’m a married man.’

She laughs, but the sound to him is like splintering glass. ‘What sort of marriage do you have, Jack, when your own wife won’t have you in her bed?’

His features tighten. He is weary now. Throwing back the blanket, he swings his legs out of the bed. He stands up, padding barefoot across the gritty floor to the chair where his trousers hang. Jim’s hand-me-downs. He pulls them on.

‘It’s not your nightmares that keep you from her room, is it, Jack? It’s Gwen.’ He refuses to react to her barb though it stings like a cat o’ nine tails. ‘I’ve been curious about the state of your marriage ever since I arrived here. She wears your ring, she raises your child, and yet there’s just one token photograph of the two of you on the mantelpiece and that’s it. You were nowhere to be found in that house … and you’re still not. You’ve come home, but she denies your presence. She barely even wrote to you while you were away and when the war ended, she didn’t seem particularly bothered to know your whereabouts. What type of wife treats her husband like that?’

‘You know nothing about it, Nora.’

‘Don’t I? I know this much – I know I wouldn’t push you away.’

He stiffens as he senses the space between them compress. Her hands explore his back, but he refuses to turn around.

‘Let me show how glad I am that you’ve come back …

He steps away and gives her a wide berth as he retreats to the window.