Martin opened the window and lit a cigarette, glad that he had the compartment to himself, but wishing he was on his way to Cliffehaven with his wingman, Roger Makepeace. Cliffehaven was home, where everything was wonderfully familiar, and therefore soothing to his soul. He would have liked nothing better than to sit in the warmth of Peggy Reilly’s kitchen, tramp the hills with Ron and his dog, or revisit old haunts with Roger to try and dispel the horrific memories which troubled them both. But Roger was in Argentina for a few weeks to support Kitty and Charlotte in their tragic loss of Freddy, and Anne seemed determined to stay in Somerset, so he had no choice but to travel alone and make the best of things.

He’d felt bereft when Roger had been discharged from the hospital, and had withdrawn into himself, preferring to be alone rather than amongst men who could never understand the demons he was fighting. He and Roger had shared the trials of the prisoner-of-war camp and managed to survive the bitter winter trek across Germany; kept each other going when neither thought they could take another step; and shared what little food they could beg, steal or forage. They’d become closer than brothers through their shared experiences, and because of this unique bond, it was to each other they’d turned when the nightmares became overwhelming and they needed to talk.

Martin stared into the darkness as the train clattered through a long tunnel, and wondered how Roger was coping in Argentina. It would be extremely tough for both of them to have no one to confide in, for their problems were certainly not something to share with their wives.

He gave a deep sigh as the train emerged into the sunlight. The thought of Anne being burdened with such horrors was unacceptable, but it would not be easy to bury those memories and pretend he was untroubled. It posed a fearsome challenge, but then he’d met and conquered far more demanding challenges over the past two years. He’d find a way. He had to.

Martin brushed cigarette ash from his blue-grey Air Force uniform jacket as the train began to slow on its approach to Taunton station. He stood and pulled the heavy kitbag from the luggage rack, dumped it on the seat and, with little pleasure, eyed his reflection in the mirror set in the partition.