He felt himself begin to tremble. His hands were still before him, on the table, and he saw them jump. So he drew them back and folded them together in his lap. He glanced at the visiting-room clock. Eleven minutes still to go…

Duncan 's father had been making faces at the baby again, and the baby had quietened. Now he and Viv were looking idly about the room. They've got bored of me, Duncan thought. He saw them as being like people in a restaurant who'd run out of things to say-who'd reached that point in a dull evening when it became all right to start studying the other diners, to pick out little quirks and flaws… He looked again at the clock. Ten minutes, now. But his hands still trembled. He felt himself, too, begin to sweat. The urge rose in him, suddenly, to muck things up, to do the worst he possibly could; to make Viv and his father hate him. His father turned back to him and said pleasantly, 'Who's that chap, son, right down at the end there?' and he answered with great scorn, as if the question was an utterly fatuous one: 'That's Patrick Grayson.'

'He's a nice-looking fellow, isn't he? Has he just come in?'

'No, he hasn't. You saw him last time. You said he was nice-looking, then. His time's almost up.'

'Is it? I bet he's pleased. I bet his wife is, too.'

Duncan curled his lip. 'Do you? He's going into the army as soon as he gets out. He might as well stay here. At least in here he gets to see her once a month; and there's no chance, of course, of him getting his head shot off.'

His father tried to follow the words. 'Well,' he said vaguely, 'he'll be glad to do his bit, I expect.' He turned his head again. 'Yes, he's a nice-looking chap all right.'

Duncan exploded. 'Why don't you go and sit with him, instead of me, if you like him so much?'

'What's that?' said his father, turning back.

' Duncan,' said Viv.

But Duncan went on. 'I expect you'd rather I was like him. I expect you'd rather I was going out, into the army, to get my head blown off. I suppose you'd rather the army was going to make a murderer of me-'

' Duncan,' said Viv again, looking startled but also tired. 'Don't be silly.'

His father, however, was losing his temper. 'Don't talk bloody nonsense,' he said. 'Going into the army to get your head blown off? What do you know about it? If you'd gone into the army when you were supposed to-'

'Dad,' said Viv.

He ignored her, or didn't hear her. 'A spell in the bloody army,' he said, moving about in his seat, 'is what he needs. Talking like that. Am I ashamed! Of course I'm bloody well ashamed!'

She touched his arm. ' Duncan didn't mean anything by it, Dad. Did you, Duncan?'

Duncan didn't answer. His father glared at him for a second, then said, 'You don't know what shame feels like, in here! You'll know it when you come out, though. You'll know it, the first time you have to pass that woman and her husband in the street-'

He meant Alec's parents. But he could never say Alec's name. He bit off the words now and, with an effort, swallowed them down. The colour had risen into his face. 'Am I ashamed!' he said again. He looked at Duncan. 'What do you want me to say to you, boy?'

Duncan shrugged. He felt ashamed himself, now; but curiously better, too, for having made this happen. He went back to picking at the table, saying lightly but clearly, 'Don't come, if you feel like that about it.'

That started his father off again. 'Don't come? What are you talking about, don't come? You're my own son, aren't you?'

'So?'

Mr Pearce looked away in disgust.

' Duncan,' said Viv.

'What? He doesn't have to come.'

' Duncan, for God's sake!'

But now he'd started to smile. The smile didn't come from a sense of pleasure. His feelings were plunging about like a madman's. They were like a kite, in a storm: it was all he could do keep his balance, hauling at the string… He put his hand across his mouth and said, 'I'm sorry.'

His father looked up, and his colour rose even higher. 'What's he smiling at?'

'He's not really smiling,' said Viv.

'If his mother was here-! No wonder you're poorly.'

'Just leave it, Dad.'

'Vivien's not well,' said Mr Pearce aggressively to Duncan. 'She had to stop, on the way here. The last thing she wants is some of your nonsense. You ought to be grateful she's come to see you at all! Plenty sisters wouldn't bother, I can tell you that.'

'They haven't a clue,' said Leddy's wife, chiming in. She'd heard it all, of course. 'They sit in here. They get their dinners brought to them. They don't give a thought to what it's like for us, out there.'

Viv made some gesture, but wouldn't answer. Her expression was grim. Duncan gazed into her face and noticed, what he hadn't seen before, that she was pale beneath her make-up, and her eyes were shadowed and red at the rims… He felt, suddenly, that his father was right. He felt sick with himself, for spoiling things. She's the nicest, prettiest sister a fellow could have! he thought, almost wildly, still looking at Viv. He wanted to draw the other men's attention to her. Look here, he wanted to be able to cry, at my nice sister!

It took all his strength and will just to sit there, wretchedly, in silence. He looked at Mr Daniels, longing for him to call out that visiting-time was up; and finally, with great relief, he saw him checking his watch against the face of the clock, then unlocking a cupboard and bringing out a hand-bell. He gave the bell a couple of half-hearted rings, and the muddle of voices at once grew louder. Chairs were pushed back. People got up quickly-as if, like Duncan, they were relieved. The baby gave a start in its mother's arms and started crying all over again.

Duncan 's father rose, grimly, and put on his hat. Viv looked at Duncan in a way that said, Well done.

He said, 'I'm sorry.'

'You ought to be.' They were speaking too softly, now, for their father to hear. 'You're not the only one who's badly off, you know. You might just try thinking about that.'

'I do. It's just-' He couldn't explain it. He said instead, 'Are you really not well?'

She looked away. 'I'm all right. I'm just tired, that's all.'

'Because of the raids?'

'Yes, I expect so.'

He watched her stand and shrug on her coat. Her lavender blouse, with its little pearl buttons, got covered over. Her hair fell forward as she dipped her head, and she tucked it back, behind her ear. He saw again how pale she was beneath her powder.

They weren't allowed to kiss or embrace, but before she moved off she reached her arm across the table and just touched her hand to his.

'Look after yourself, all right?' she said, without smiling, as she drew the hand back.

'I will. Look after yourself, too.'

'I'll try,' she said.

He nodded to his father-wanting to catch his father's eye, but afraid of it, too. He said, 'Goodbye, Dad. I'm sorry, for the silly things I said.'

But perhaps he didn't say it clearly enough. His father turned away while he was still speaking, dipping his head, looking for Viv's arm so that he could link his own with it.

Ten minutes earlier Duncan had almost wanted to strike his face; now he stood with his thighs pressed hard against the table, watching Viv and his father find a place in the crowd of visitors; not wanting to leave the room until his father had left it, in case his father should look back.

But only Viv looked back-just once, very briefly. And a second later Mr Daniels came to Duncan and gave him a push.

'Into the line with you, Pearce. And you, Leddy… All right, you buggers, let's go.'

He took them out of the visiting-room, back to the junction of passages which led to the workshops, and handed them over to Mr Chase. Mr Chase looked wearily at his watch. It was twenty to five. The men from the Basket Shop, he said, could make their way back to it by themselves; one of them was a Redband. As for the others-well, he was fucked if he was going to escort them all the way over to Mailbags One and Two, just for the sake of twenty minutes; he led them back to the hall instead. They walked without speaking: depressed, subdued; all of them, like Duncan, with neatly combed hair and creaseless trousers and clean hands… The hall looked vast with no-one in it. There were so few of them-eight men, only-that when they trudged up the staircases the landings made that chilly, shivering sound that Duncan listened for at night.