Jack had searched in the most logical way he had known how to, of course. North of the original Spitfire’s Rise, to avoid any invading force from New London passing the new house along the way to the old. But not too far north, otherwise hours and hours would be added to every trip to New London. Out in the countryside to avoid the diseases of the cities. And most importantly, just the right balance between being an unlikely place for Grant to search but not being so unlikely that it would paradoxically become the most obvious place for them to hide.

Jack hoped he had got everything right. The Underdogs were dead if he had made a mistake. And as a seventeen-year-old who was accustomed to the world telling him he was wrong about most things, he had a lot to overcome in order to feel confident.

He turned to the front door and entered his new home, trying in vain to wipe the village’s name from his memory. With a memory like his, he wasn’t going to manage it. And with a village name like Tea Green – the most stereotypically English name a village could possibly have – it was already buried in his brain forever.

He walked back into the darkened house, and switched his torch back on. This house was going to be intimidating and claustrophobic without the lights their petrol generator could have powered.

‘I don’t like it,’ came Gracie’s voice from somewhere on the ground floor.

As was so often the case back in the old world, even Jack’s absolute best was not good enough.

‘Well, let’s see if the beds really are comfy,’ he answered, in a voice he made to sound confident. He fumbled his way up the stairs towards the closest bedroom. Ten seconds of this house being his home and he already needed a time-out. He started climbing through the dark; first one step at a time, and then two steps, and then jumps rather than steps. Just like how people found themselves needing the toilet more urgently the closer they got to it, Jack’s need for shelter became stronger with every step towards the bedroom.

One of his quivering hands brushed against a living person that his torchlight had not detected. Both Jack and the small figure jumped in fright.

‘Sorry…’ said Thomas in the darkness. ‘Where do you think McCormick would want these?’

Jack looked down at a collection of envelopes in Thomas’ hands. Jack loved Thomas as much as any decent person would, but at that moment he reached for the most dismissive answer possible.

‘Depends what’s in them,’ he said. ‘If it’s private, under his mattress.’

‘…Which one’s his?’

‘You get to choose.’