He gave Anne a self-deprecating smile before carrying on. ‘The fear of what the future held for me, looking as I did, was overwhelming, and I kept having nightmares about the moment my Spit caught fire and I couldn’t release my harness to get out.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I couldn’t share those horrors with my poor little mother, so I existed in a silent world of pain and tortured thoughts until I was transferred to East Grinstead and discovered I wasn’t alone. The men there understood what I was going through, and I found I could talk to them, cry with them, rage against what fate had brought us, and finally let all that horror and fear pour out. We used a great deal of black humour to get us through the painful treatments and deal with what was going on in our heads, but the more I talked, the easier it became to let go of those dark memories, and when I left the hospital, I was at peace and ready to face the world again.’

He turned to Anne and rested his hand on hers, his scarred face lit cruelly by the bright sunlight coming through the window. ‘Martin needs desperately to talk to someone, Anne, and he’s clearly trying to protect you from whatever demons he’s fighting. That’s understandable, and you shouldn’t feel hurt by his lack of communication, even though you must find it hard not to be. But if he goes on bottling it up like this he’ll send himself mad with it all.’ He briefly squeezed her fingers and then took a breath. ‘I’d be very willing to listen. He has only to ask.’

‘I did suggest it,’ Anne replied. ‘But he refused point blank, saying you’d never experienced what he had and couldn’t possibly understand.’ She gave a sigh. ‘I even hinted he might talk to the vicar, but of course that poor man would have meant well, but he knows so little of the real world he’d have been of no use at all.’

George patted her hand and then tugged at his jacket lapels – it was something he always did just before saying something the listener might not like to hear, and Anne steeled herself.

‘You say that Martin writes most days to his Wing Commander – Roger, is it?’ At Anne’s nod, he continued thoughtfully. ‘It seems to me that if they shared the same experiences, he would be the ideal person for Martin to talk to – face-to-face.’

‘That’s not possible,’ said Anne. ‘They’re on opposite sides of the country.’

‘I realise that,’ he replied. ‘But they don’t have to be if you took Martin home to Cliffehaven.’