And his godmother Mattie was back in his head, whole and vivid, her voice as clear as if she were shouting through the letter-box, and he was once again at the warm centre of a world in which his every speech and action provoked enthusiasm and comment: ‘Yes, well remembered, young Noel, it is indeed called a pilum, and I think that with your sureness of grip as well as your grasp of Latin vocabulary, you would have made a very fine Roman legionary. Incidentally, I was in the bath and I suddenly realized that it’s possible to sing the words of Lars Porsena of Clusium to the tune of ‘My Old Man Said Follow the Van’. Shall we give it a go?’

That sensation of warmth had dwindled during the day, snuffed out finally by Vee’s question in the hall that evening, as he’d pulled on his balaclava:

‘Where are you off to?’

He’d looked at her, incredulously. ‘The Drill Hall. The Methodist Party.’

‘Oh, yes, sorry, I keep forgetting.’

She was wearing lipstick, and a dress that he didn’t recognize, and in response to his stare she checked her appearance in the hall mirror, though the glass was so old that every reflection looked fickle, freckled. She dabbed at her mouth.

‘Do I look all right?’ she asked, half to herself. ‘This is that brand-new lipstick you found dropped on the Heath last year. Rose Blush.’

It looked orange to Noel. ‘So where’s the corporal taking you?’

‘I don’t know, he didn’t say.’

‘And are you going in the lorry?’

She didn’t answer that one. Noel tucked the bundle of quiz questions into the pocket which already contained the letter. ‘Have a nice time, anyway,’ he said, stiffly.

‘Thank you.’ She reached out a hand to pat his shoulder, and then changed its trajectory and picked a piece of lint from his scarf. ‘I hope you haven’t made the questions too difficult. Mrs Claxton keeps on saying to me that she’s praying that the team from the local council wins.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the bomb-hole in the road outside the chapel’s been there since last July, and the gulley next to it’s still half blocked with rubble so that when it rains it all overflows into the chapel porch, and you don’t want the clerk of works drawing up his repairs list and thinking, “Oh yes, the Methodists. I hope they’re enjoying their prize of two bottles of home-made wine and a side of bacon sent by Mr Orchard’s niece in Canada.”’

‘I see.’ Noel pulled on his mittens. ‘Do you think Mrs Claxton’s comments to you are in the nature of a hint?’

‘A hint? What sort of hint?’

‘Is she hoping that your quiz-collating nephew might find a way of ensuring that the council team wins?’

‘No, of course not!’ said Vee, sounding, and possibly even feeling, a little shocked. There was a pause. ‘Could you?’

‘I suppose, theoretically, I could rearrange the question order so that the council team get fewer on, say, chemistry and more on the subject of popular entertainment. Or I could give them “rivers of England” as a Geography sub-category, while the lay preachers get “rivers of the African sub-continent”. And so on. It would be quite easy.’