he reached the door and said, expressionlessly, ‘Wait here.’

Back in the kitchen at Deep Valley Farm, Mrs Green was on page three of the contract. Phil was standing over her with his pen at the ready.

‘Hurry it up there, Isabel,’ he said.

‘Mum,’ said Megsie, for the umpteenth time, ‘please wait for Norman!’

‘There’s absolutely nothing Norman can do,’ said Mrs Green. ‘Just stop it, Megsie. It’s all difficult enough as it is.’

Phil shot a hard glance at Megsie, who was biting her lip and wondering what on earth she could do to prevent her mother from signing. Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting shriek. It was Celia. She’d got up on to a chair and was screaming, ‘A mouse! A mouse!’ and pointing over to the cooker. Everyone looked.

‘Argh! Aaaarrggh!!! A mouse under the cooker, a big fat mouse, aaaaarghh!!!’

Phil, who was terrified of mice, got nervously on to the settle, while Mrs Green, wincing at the screams, got up and started to poke about under the cooker with a fly-swat. Megsie looked up at Celia who, continuing to scream, pointed urgently at the kitchen table. Megsie looked and saw Phil’s fountain pen lying by the contract. Then she understood Celia’s plan. Quick as a flash, she picked up the pen and hid it in her tool apron. Neither of the adults saw, engrossed as they were by the mouse drama and deafened as they were by Celia’s screeching.

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While Celia was giving this fine performance, Norman was pacing up and down in front of Lord Gray’s desk until Cyril finally said, ‘You’ll wear a hole in the carpet if you go on like that.’

‘I know,’ said Norman apologetically. ‘It’s just that I can’t seem to stop moving.’

He looked at Cyril and saw a very sad expression.

‘Are they really going to get divorced, your mum and dad?’ he said.

In those days, I should tell you, divorce wasn’t quite so common as it is now and people were quite shocked by it when it happened. So Cyril felt awful when he had to say, ‘Yes.’ It made him feel oddly ashamed, as though it were in some obscure way his fault, which it wasn’t.

Norman looked at him compassionately.

‘You know, you can come and stay with us. Live with us. You and Celia. Not just wartime. All the time.’

Cyril looked at him and there was a glimmer of light in his eyes.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘That’s jolly decent of you. Thanks.’

At that moment, the little door opened and Lieutenant Addis came in with a long length of white tape. Lord Gray followed, wearing glasses. Both men looked very grave.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lord Gray, consulting the tape.

‘What? What does it say?’

‘I’m afraid he’s M.I.A.’

‘What’s that?’ said Norman, dread in his heart.

Cyril came forward and put a consoling hand on his friend’s arm. ‘Missing In Action. I’m sorry, Norman.’

Everyone looked very serious. Norman couldn’t understand it.

‘Wait –’ he said. ‘Wait – missing in action? Not killed in action, like it said?’

‘Not killed,’ said Lord Gray. ‘The telegram you received was – incorrect. In fact, there’s no record of any telegram having been sent –’

Before Lord Gray could finish the sentence, Norman had flung his arms around his neck and was hugging him so tightly he nearly choked. Lieutenant Addis gave another of his little shrieks and dropped the ticker tape.

‘I knew it! He’s alive!’ cried Norman. ‘Oh, thank you, Uncle!’

‘My nephew,’ said Lord Gray to his aide. ‘Rough diamond, as they say.’

The rough diamond was already racing down the carpet to the door, shouting for Cyril.

‘Come on, we’ve got to get back! There’s no time to lose!’

Cyril looked at his father uncertainly for a moment and then turned to follow Norman. He’d got halfway down the room when Lord Gray called out, in a very un-military way, ‘Cyril, wait!’

Cyril turned and saw his father walking down to meet him. When he’d got close enough, Lord Gray didn’t seem to know quite what to do. Then he said, ‘Done you good, all that country air.’ His voice sounded rough and unsure, almost as though that wasn’t what he had wanted to say at all. Cyril just nodded and stood there, feeling foolish. Then Lord Gray held out his hand and said, ‘Carry on.’

Cyril shook the proffered hand, feeling very adult and special all of a sudden.

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‘I will, sir,’ he said proudly. ‘I mean, I will, Father. Righto.’

‘Righto,’ said Lord Gray, the right side of his top lip twisting slightly, which might have been the beginnings of a smile but