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‘It’s very normal to feel this way. We all do coming out of a war. I was in Africa during the Boer Wars. You look whole.’

‘I am.’

‘The angels smiled on you then. How about up here?’ Fanshaw asked, reaching a finger to tap it against his head. ‘Feeling strong here too?’

‘Reaching an enlightened place in my mind,’ Harry said, deliberately vague.

‘And you’ve avoided that wretched Spanish Flu, too.’

Harry nodded.

‘Lost our only son during the Somme battles. He nearly made it, you know.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear it, Mr Fanshaw.’

A young waitress arrived with the obvious question in her expression. ‘A tea and one of your rock buns would be lovely, dear, thank you,’ Fanshaw asked before she spoke. She smiled and moved away as quietly as she’d arrived.

Harry was reminded to sip his tea.

‘It’s still so terribly raw,’ Fanshaw continued, sounding surprised to admit it. ‘His darling mother is going mad with her grief. His wife, two children left behind . . .’ His voice petered away as he shook his head. ‘Are you married, son?’

Harry baulked. ‘No.’

‘Probably a good thing while you find your feet again. Johnny was torn, racked with guilt at volunteering.’

‘He’d have probably been conscripted anyway. It was brave of him to put his hand up before his time.’

‘I remind myself it wasn’t personal. The Germans didn’t set out to kill our son specifically. Johnny was courageous but unlucky, that’s all. It’s the only way I can justify the waste of his young life. He made it to lance corporal, so we’re proud of him. I tell myself this every day as I force myself to leave our bed, make Gwen breakfast, get dressed. I’m retired – it’s not as though I have anything to get dressed for, but it seems important.’

‘You have grandchildren. They’re the important reason,’ Harry offered, watching the rise and fall of the tramlines of wrinkles in Fanshaw’s forehead as he battled emotion.

‘Indeed. In fact we’re even thinking of moving down to Devon to be closer to them. I think Alice – that’s John’s wife – could use the help.’

‘Change is good,’ Harry tried. There was a strange comfort in that sort of cliché. It didn’t need explaining, but at least it meant soothing words were being exchanged which didn’t create challenge or disturbance.

Fanshaw’s tea and rock bun arrived. ‘There you go, Mr Fanshaw,’ the waitress said, clearly familiar with Harry’s companion.

He cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Shirley,’ he said to the waitress as she turned away with a kind smile. ‘I come to the station most days to sit and take tea, annoy strangers such as yourself, watch the men in their raggle-taggle uniforms make their way to wherever it is they’re going.’ Harry said nothing. ‘I’m a coward, I realise. I can’t face Gwen’s grief – I take this hour of escape a few times a week. Sorry – you’re the unlucky chap today.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Harry said and meant it.

‘There’s so much uncertainty surrounding our Johnny’s death; we don’t even have anything of his to say it’s real, that this isn’t some nightmare that we may wake from. I suspect that’s what my wife’s hoping for.’

‘A mother needs to know, doesn’t she,’ Harry reinforced. ‘I suspect Mrs Fanshaw would benefit from knowing there’s a grave that can be firmly attributed to your son.’ He wondered if he’d pushed too far in his presumption as he watched the older man’s eyes glisten with tears.

‘I think it’s exactly what she needs – what we both need,’ Fanshaw agreed. ‘Then we would have no choice but to get on with life as best we can.’

That settled it for him. Harry knew he had made the right decision to go and see Rose Fletcher. The army could take months to finally get news to her of finding Tom.

‘So how come you’re out of duties so early?’ Fanshaw asked. He broke off half the rock bun as he stirred his tea. There was no sugar in it – rationing was still in effect.

‘My unit was one of the earliest on European soil to fight the enemy, but as it was not part of the army of occupation beyond the peace treaty, it was also one of the first to be disembodied.’

‘What rank are you, son?’

‘Captain,’ he admitted.

‘That you led men into battle and survived is testimony to your courage.’ Fanshaw downed nearly a third of his tea with one gulp.