As he leaned forward she saw that his thick woollen overcoat had created the illusion of a well-built man but there was much less of him than she had realised. Money must be tight, she thought. Decorating won’t be on many householders’ list of essential spending plans during these difficult times. She took her own coat off and hung it on the hook on the back of the door between the kitchen and the hall.

He opened the knife and examined the blade. She had added other pencils to the pile; there were now more than a dozen in various lengths lying on the table.

‘You draw?’ He examined the lettering on the sides. ‘Some of these are softer than the ordinary kind.’

‘When I was younger. I’m just using them up before I buy more.’

He took the first one, laying it in the curve of the fingers of his left hand and putting his thumb on the shaft to grip it. She watched as he stroked the penknife firmly from painted wood to graphite tip, slicing off curls of cedar, one for each of the six sides of the pencil. He rotated it and repeated the process. There was, she noticed, a rhythm to the job.

He held the first pencil up vertically to check the grey lead was smooth and then sharpened it to a point with tiny, quick movements, before giving it a final check. He didn’t say a word, just worked away in silence.

She took her diary out of her bag and opened it to the correct date. ‘Now, tell me your name and how I should contact you when I’m ready for the decorating.’

‘Anderson,’ he replied. ‘Keith Anderson. I don’t have a telephone, but you could write? My workshop’s just off Dalry Road. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be paying the rent on it, though.’

Ann nodded. ‘If the information changes, please let me know.’ She reached across the table for the cake tin. ‘May I interest you in some parkin?’

Chapter 33

February 1931

The post was lying behind the front door when Ann got back from the greengrocer, basket in hand. She wrestled with the key, gave the heavy front door a mighty heave and stumbled forward with the momentum of her efforts as it opened. She made a mental note to write GET DOOR FIXED on her list of things that needed to be repaired. If it wasn’t written down, it wouldn’t get done.

Two items. A leaflet about the census, and an upside-down envelope. She nudged them aside with her shoe so they didn’t get crumpled by the draught-excluding brush which was fixed to the bottom of the door. Her basket was heavy; as well as vegetables, she had bought flour and butter, and a quarter-pound of acid drops from the confectioners. Her treat for later.