It was difficult to read the reaction on McCormick’s face, but the length of his pause spoke volumes.

‘In all fairness,’ added Jack, ‘if you want to find a suitable home, you’ll need an analytical person with close attention to detail. I’m cut out for that, and Kate’s probably better than me in combat anyway. If she really wants it, I’ll stand aside.’

‘Thanks Jack,’ said Kate before McCormick could give his own answer. The man shrugged, and gave a small nod of his head.

‘Fine,’ he answered. ‘Shannon, Lorraine, I want you two on comms with Mark guarding. Shannon’s got the best knowledge of Grant’s upper floor, and Lorraine… well, you know why. The rest of you, follow Jack as he searches for a new home. Try to find one with comfy beds, OK?’

McCormick’s last joke fell on deaf ears. The remaining Underdogs rose to their feet, and prepared to evacuate.

*

Ten minutes to departure. McCormick dragged his legs behind him into the attic. It was time to say goodbye to Barbara again, this time probably for good. Even if he were lucky enough to survive tomorrow’s hellfire, it wouldn’t be Polly’s house he’d come back to.

He rose to his knees, and found his box of memories straight ahead next to the boiler. But, first things first, there was something in the attic that would have to go wherever the Underdogs went. He reached to his left, opened the thin box of sealed envelopes, and started to flip through them.

‘Jack… Mark… Simon… Gracie… Shannon…’

The sixth envelope in the pile, the one he had flipped through to find, sank his heart.

‘…Raj.’

McCormick took the envelope in both hands, and tore it to pieces. The information inside had been for Raj’s eyes only, now to be left unread forever. He stuffed the remains into the pocket of his combat uniform, planning to dispose of them somewhere along the journey. The River Lea would churn them up well.

With one less envelope in the thin box, he crawled over to his favourite part of Spitfire’s Rise. When he removed the aged photo frame from his memory box, Barbara McCormick’s smile seemed to have grown.

‘This isn’t goodbye, Barbara,’ he began. ‘I’m just moving house again. Like I did from Durham. Only this time, my physical memories won’t be joining me.’

McCormick smiled at the realisation that he was talking to a photo. But that was OK. He had spent three years not minding.

‘Tomorrow I’ll be heading to New London. Only the second time I’ve ever been. And you know what, Barbara? There’s a chance I might actually come back. I’m prepared for the worst, but I’m hoping for the best. I don’t think my work’s done yet.’