‘She taught you excellently. And she passed away as well?’

Katie quickly wiped her eyes, her cheeks still burning. ‘No. Not so far as I know. We had a disagreement. I haven’t seen her for some time.’

‘I see,’ Sybil said, considering this. ‘And is there no mending the situation?’

Katie didn’t want to say more, to go into what had happened with Michael’s father. She had tried to bury Simon Collinge in her mind, even though she suspected Sybil must have guessed some of it. ‘She told me to leave,’ she said abruptly. ‘So I suppose I feel that the situation is hers to mend. She could find me, if she tried. She doesn’t seem to want to.’

Whether because of tact or lack of further interest, Sybil did not push on with the conversation and soon, as the fire died down, she struggled to her feet.

‘Ah!’ She gave a grunt of pain as her feet took her weight. ‘Blast this wretched rheumatism. Time to turn in, I think. Up the wooden hill. This weather takes it out of you.’

‘Yes, it does. It’s making Michael sleep like a log, that’s one thing!’ Katie tidied the room a little to save Sybil’s sore feet.

‘I heard a good bit of advice today for keeping warm in bed,’ Sybil said, limping to the door. ‘Take you knickers off and put your feet in them. You won’t wear your socks out so fast then.’

‘Oh,’ Katie said, startled. ‘Yes – well, thank you. Perhaps I’ll try that.’

‘Goodnight, dear.’

‘Goodnight, Sybil.’

Lying as instructed, with her feet tucked into her knickers, which turned out to be not a bad idea at all, she stared, shivering, up into the darkness, full of uncomfortable feelings.

The conversation about her mother brought it all back, the hurt and shame. Should she go and find Vera, make amends if she could? It was more than four years now. A cold, sad feeling filled her. Most of the time she tried to put it all out of her mind. Michael was her precious kin now – the only one – and she loved him fiercely and proudly. But her mother? When had things ever been close or loving between her and that fearful, angry widow, even when she was very young? Even in her dimmest memories of when her father was still alive, it was him she remembered running to, where there was a memory of warmth. If only he hadn’t died – things would have been so different!

Now, in this house, she realized that she felt more fondness for funny old Sybil than she ever could now for her mother. It seemed wrong, unnatural, but, she knew, as her eyes slowly closed, that was the truth of how she felt. Sybil had been kind and made her feel welcome in this house – and that kindness was worth its weight in gold.

Forty

After Mr Gudgeon’s funeral, a very quiet affair, Sybil advertised for a new lodger in her usual way. She didn’t have to wait long.