Gwen hears her name being hollered from the bar and making her apologies she manages to extricate herself from Mrs Hamer’s company. Nora is stretching over a sea of shoulders, Gwen’s half pint in her hand. Gwen takes it as the beer’s creamy top oozes down the side of the glass. She brings it straight to her lips to draw off the excess, while Nora weaves her way through the throng to join her, breathless and giggling.

‘Blimey, what a crush. Everyone’s in such good spirits though. Cheers!’ She crashes her glass rather unnecessarily against Gwen’s, jolting more liquid over its rim.

‘Oh, did you get a drink for Tom?’ Gwen asks. ‘Tom, do you want a lemonade as a special treat?’ She looks down to her side, but the space that Tom had occupied is empty. ‘Where’s Tom?’

‘I thought he was with you?’ Nora says, licking froth from her top lip.

‘He was, just a minute ago.’ Gwen searches at Tom height through the forest of legs around her, but there is no sign of her boy. She calls his name, but it is lost in the general buzz of conversation. ‘Where is he?’ A lump of panic lodges in her chest.

‘Don’t worry, he can’t have gone far. You look here and I’ll go and have a look in the snug.’

Gwen begins to push her way through the main bar, her stomach knotting. The rational part of her knows he must be here somewhere, tucked into a corner, perhaps playing with other children from the village, but then it dawns on her that since their arrival she has seen no other children. They have all been left at home. She is the only mother irresponsible enough to drag her son out after bedtime to enjoy the frivolities of the victory celebration. She curses herself for allowing Nora to sway her. Setting her glass down on a table, she continues to work her way through the crowd, asking all those she knows if they have seen Tom. Their blank expressions elevate her fears. She thinks it is the stinging smoke that brings tears to her eyes, but she cannot be sure.

The back door of the bar hangs open offering a tantalising glimpse of golden light, and it suddenly strikes her that the inviting glimmer of evening sun might have enticed Tom into the garden – a quiet place of respite from the overwhelming noise. She begins to make her way towards the door and when she finds herself snagged by the hands of well-meaning neighbours, she pauses only long enough to ask, ‘Have you seen Tom?’ before moving on, blood pulsing through her veins.

When she at last escapes outside, the deafening babble drops away and all she can hear is the faint hum of the bumblebees on the flowering heathers that border the path before her.