Sleet began to batter the pavements as the Rolls drew to a stop in Bryanston Square. Pat would be caught in it.

Enid, 1926

27

Enid, 1926

What had she done? He wouldn’t look at her. She knelt before him, as she had yesterday. “Ian?” She held his arms. They were clamped to his sides. “Ian?” He kept his eyes on the floor. He was wrapped in a towel, he was shivering, standing in the middle of her bathroom while the bath tub ran.

Everything of yesterday had felt like running. Running for the door, running for trousers that weren’t stained, running after him down the corridor. But today, everything was still.

This morning she’d woken on the floor beside him, beside his bed, him still under it. She’d meant to pull him out when he was asleep, but she’d fallen asleep before he did, his pillow under her head, his blanket pulled over her. There was a stench – it was the stench that had woken her. He’d crawled to the further end, and lay on his teddy. She’d tugged his legs, and this time he hadn’t resisted.

Now he was in the bathroom, she’d got him as far as that. “Ian? Please say you’re happy. It shan’t take long. I can take you back in a jiff, if you like. You do need to wash, though – have a nice bath, and then I can make you breakfast, and everything will be all right. Won’t it?” She shook him gently. She was sat on her heels so that she was lower than him, so that she could see into his face, but he kept moving it away. “You remember me, don’t you?” He said nothing. She let go of him, got up, turned off the taps and tested the water. “Come along then, let’s get you in.” He let her unwrap the towel and lift him, her hands hooked under his arms. He looked so little once he was in, so small in the shallow hot water. She gathered up his soiled clothes, dumped them in a basket and carried it to the area steps at the back of the house. Peel could deal with it. She’d employed the housekeeper last week.