He unwrapped the fish and chips and put them out on a plate, reflecting as he did so how nice it would have been to share them with someone. That girl, that Tess, who had so many problems, but who had trusted him; it would have been nice to share his supper with someone like Tess.

He had already fetched vinegar and salt from the cupboard where he kept such things, and now he sat down and pulled his plate towards him. He began to eat, telling himself as he did so that having saved Tess from the louts who had been pursuing her, he would like to keep up the acquaintance. It would be interesting to hear Marilyn Thomas’s reaction when she was asked straight out why she didn’t like Tess. And that teacher, that Miss Cracknell: if Tess had been his daughter he would have been up to that school before you could say Jack Robinson, demanding an explanation for her unfriendly behaviour. If it had been Janine . . . but then he scolded himself; interfering between pupil and teacher wouldn’t help matters. The old lady – what was her name now? He was sure the girl had mentioned it – oh, yes, Mrs Williams. Well, he supposed she could have said something, but from what Tess had said she had not tried to do so. Probably she knew best, knew that poking her nose in would only make things worse.

Albert reached for a slice of bread and margarine and wiped it round his now empty plate. Then he took a swig of tea and gave a deep, satisfied sigh. ‘That was grand,’ he said aloud. ‘And tomorrow I’ll go round to the landlord of the empty shop and find out what sort of rent he’s asking. God knows I’ve been saying I’ll do it long enough.’

It had not been difficult for Tess to discover Clackem’s address, nor had it been hard to wrap the delicious crumbly biscuits in bright Christmas paper, to put the little parcel carefully in Gran’s wicker shopping basket, and to set out on foot for her house. It was not far from the school, which was probably why she’d chosen to live there, Tess thought. What was hard was forcing herself to walk up the short path to the front door, pick up the knocker, which was made of brass and in the shape of a lion’s head, and rap. In fact, Tess walked up and down the short street several times before she worked up enough courage to seize the knocker. It seemed a long time before anybody came, and she was just beginning to think, hopefully, that Miss Cracknell must be out when she heard footsteps approaching the front door. They sounded like the footsteps of someone wearing sensible, low-heeled brogues, the very shoes that her teacher favoured.

The door opened abruptly, fortunately swinging inwards so that Tess was not knocked off her feet, and Miss Cracknell stood there, thin arched eyebrows rising, mouth snapping ‘Yes?’ and then adding ‘Oh, it’s you!’ so that sweat popped out all over Tess’s brow and she had to fight an urge to turn and run. But then she remembered that she was wearing a thick grey overcoat and a matching grey skirt with two big patch pockets, and that Gran had plaited her hair and tied it with a short length of red ribbon. In other words she had taken the advice both of Albert Payne and of Gran; she was neat as a new pin and should be feeling confident as a result.