He went past a dry-cleaner’s, a bakery, a motor-accessories business, a fish bar, the Oriental Aroma, a picture-framer and a charity shop. He remembered what someone had said about IEDs – that the bombs were a new form of warfare, more deadly than anything the army had faced in the last half-century. He knew next to nothing about explosives, but could reflect on the T-shirts and the mother’s weeping. He thought that by standing in the road with his lowered standard he had played his part. And he knew he would not be able to do so much longer. They were planning to move the repatriations to Brize Norton. He dreaded that: much of the purpose of his life would be extinguished when the hearses and their escorts no longer came through Wootton Bassett. The mood of the town would never be recaptured at another location. He didn’t want to think about it.

He searched for Beryl and couldn’t see her. She might be in the library, or in a bank, just window-shopping or- Damn near bumped into a woman on the pavement, tears streaming down her face. Quite pretty, she might have been in her early thirties. She had fluffy blonde hair in sort of curls and her mascara was smudged. She wore a scarlet skirt that Doug Bentley reckoned was some way short of decent and a white blouse that was not buttoned high. At her neck was a thin gold chain and a pendant that spelled out her name: Ellie. Ellie cried from her soul and gazed up the road where the hearse and its escort had gone.

‘Are you all right, love?’

Just a choke, as if a sob was caught in her throat.

‘It’s these bloody bombs,’ he said. ‘The bloody bombs… Are you family, love?’

She sniffed heavily.

He produced a handkerchief, and she blew hard into it, then used it to wipe her face. She grimaced. ‘They’re all heartbreaking, love,’ he said. ‘I’m with the Royal British Legion, represent my branch. We’re here every time to show our respect… It’s a terrible loss to you and-’