Katie’s heart beat fast with delight at seeing her. She wanted to put the clock back and return to that friendship they had had in the Cromwell Street School classroom, their jokes and games, before all the hurts and difficulties. But despite her new relaxed openness with Maudie, in those seconds the old habits fell back into place. Don’t say anything. Don’t give anything away. So she put on a bright and breezy manner, friendly, but closed, and told Em nothing. And then Em started on about Molly Fox and that disgusting brother of hers and how he’d been hanged, and there’d been no chance to say more, or change anything. She’d tried – she’d smiled and hoped Em would ask more. She needed to be asked – to be invited back in. But then Em was gone, and so had her chance.

‘Never mind,’ she told herself. ‘You’ve got Maudie. She’s the best friend you’ve ever had!’

But the sadness of what happened with Em still stayed with her.

The attic room that Sybil Routh showed to Katie did indeed involve climbing a lot of stairs, with runners of old carpet up the middle. She carried Michael, feeling her leg muscles pulling. This would keep her in trim all right! Archie, the little dog, followed this time, seeming quite happy with Katie’s presence now that she had been let into the house. When they reached the top and looked into its large, airy space, she felt immediately that she could live in it, even though it was still occupied in a sparse, masculine way by the man who was going to Manchester – Mr Bell. The bed was rumpled and there were clothes thrown carelessly on the chair.

‘Mr Bell will be gone by the end of the month,’ Sybil told her, still panting from the climb.

The room extended across most of the top of the house, which was built of generous Victorian proportions, with a high ceiling and two dormer windows overlooking the street, so that the front of the room was bathed in light, with the back end, where the bed was, more shadowy. As well as the bed, which seemed to be three-quarter-sized, there was an old leather armchair, its brown surface rubbed pale where countless heads and hands had rested on it, a small writing table and chair, and a wardrobe that, Sybil showed her, also contained shelves. The floor was of worn brown linoleum. Even without any female touch, it felt cheerful and inviting.

‘It’s very nice,’ Katie said. Michael chattered, smiling and waving his arm excitedly, wanting to be put down to play with Archie, who was sniffing round the room.

‘He won’t hurt him,’ Sybil said, as Michael made straight for Archie. The dog’s little docked tail wagged at him. ‘He’s all sound and fury – look, friends already.’

‘Just be gentle with him, Mikey,’ Katie said. But the dog seemed happy and Michael too.

‘Think you can do all these stairs – with him?’ Sybil Routh nodded at Michael, then gave an unexpected smile. ‘Yes, little fellow: this is your new home!’