The small, redheaded boy dressed in his school uniform kneels by a gravestone, one hand pressed against the cold, hard stone and his head bowed. He cannot be more than thirteen, but he has already lived through a lot.

"Jack, we have to leave," his mother calls anxiously from the graveyard's gate, but Jack is reluctant to leave.

"Daddy," he whispers to the gravestone, "I...I miss you, Daddy. But I have to go now, and...and I might not be able to visit again. Cause the Enemies are coming. They might bomb the town to pieces, so Mummy and I have to leave, so we'll be safe,"

"Jack," his mother calls again, impatiently, "I'm going,". He sighs, scrambles up and runs after her, catching up as she passes the fabric shop. It's deserted; nearly everywhere is, now. He and his mother are two of the last to leave. They were meant to be waiting for his father, but he will not be accompanying them now. After the funeral yesterday, it is time to leave the town where Jack grew up, where he will leave all his happy, boyhood memories. Tears threaten in his pale blue eyes, and he blinks them away furiously, embarrassed. 'I must not be weak, I must not be weak' he thinks over and over, a mantra in his head. His father's last letter to him had reminded him that while he was away, Jack was the man of the household; he had to be strong for his mother. 'Or at least try', Jack thinks, suddenly angry, 'he never believed I could'.

"Why was I such a disappointment to him?" he asks, struggling to keep his voice level.

"Jack," his mother warns.

"No, Mummy. You might as well tell me. I'm old enough now to know. What did I do wrong? Why didn't he love me? It's so damned unfair, he never loved me or wanted me, he was never proud of me and all he ever gave me was his disappointment!" Jack yells, furious now, though he does not know what drives his fury. He almost expects a slap across the face, a sharp talking to about how much his father did for him, a lecture on not speaking ill of the dead...but his mother does the one thing that Jack is not prepared for. She stays silent and continues walking, pretending not to notice her son's outburst.

"Mummy?" he asks, tentatively, reaching out to her. She brushes him off and keeps walking; he has to jog to keep up. When they reach the station, the light has begun to fade, and Jack's mother passes him his cloak to put on. He tries to push it away, sulking from his earlier episode, but she presses it on him.

"Jack," she says, tiredly, "Put it on, or you'll get cold and catch a chill," he takes it and slings the heavy, black swathe of material sulkily across his shoulders. The train comes, and they get on and wander through the carriages until they find an empty one. They sit down, Jack's mother by the window and Jack next to her. To his surprise, his mother starts talking.

"I met your father on a train, you know. I'd lost my ticket and he helped me search. He found it under my seat,"

"What did you talk about, Mummy?" interrupts Jack.

"Oh, nothing important really, I can barely remember. But after we had known each other for a while, he asked me for my hand in marriage,"

"What did you say?"

"I said yes," she says, smiling to herself, "he was so sweet to me, and my parents loved him almost as much as I did. I got pregnant soon after the marriage, and he wanted a boy. Always wanted a boy, and when I had you he was so proud, he went up and down the street telling everyone and strutting like a peacock! I was happy that he was pleased, but as you grew...I think the problem was that he expected you to be like him," she sighs.

"What do you mean, like him, Mummy?"

"Well, he loved sport, hunting, always wanted to take charge of a situation. You didn't seem so interested; you preferred your singing, and you never wanted to play war games with him, just jigsaw puzzles and board games, and when he got competitive you got so scared...I suppose he found it hard to understand. But you were never a disappointment, darling. Remember how proud he was when you became chief chorister? How he wrote to you every week whilst he was away, fighting? He loved you just as much as I do, he just wasn't the sort of man to show it,"

"But how do you know?" Jack cries out, frustrated.

"Hush now, angel, he told me. Now curl up and get some sleep; I doubt whether you'll get any on the aeroplane," Jack did as he was told, snuggling down in his cloak and closing his eyes, with a firm resolve to try to be more like his father, so that at least he would be proud when he watched his son from heaven.