I walked to the gate with Douglas. The rain had eased off and the ground was scattered with bright yellow leaves.

‘Thank you for coming,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I’ve barely even had the chance to say hello to you.’ I had, in fact, almost forgotten he was there. The strain was telling in my voice though I was trying to sound light and cheerful.

‘You’ve got tears in your eyes,’ he observed. He had a strange, detached manner sometimes. He moved his gaze to the laurel bushes behind me, avoiding my eyes.

‘Well, it’s been that kind of day.’

I could think of nothing to say and felt dog-tired. I backed away from him over the wet leaves. ‘Look, I’ll see you soon,’ I said formally. ‘It was good of you to come.’

‘Kate – ’ Clumsily he moved towards me and pulled me into his arms. I felt his lips, startling against mine, the pale moustache prickling against my skin. It was a hard, desperate kiss, one which I didn’t have the time to return, nor the inclination.

He stepped back. ‘Sorry – oh, God.’ He half turned away from me. ‘I just – wanted to touch you. I’m sorry . . .’

Before I could say anything he was moving off at surprising speed down the road.

Chapter 17

Evening had set in as I cycled to my last call that day, and it was all the later as I had been delayed by a punctured tyre. It was January. Fog thickened between the walls of the narrow alleys, mingling with smoke from the chimneys of houses and factories to form a smelly, sludge-coloured haze. The muffled light from my bicycle made little impression on it as I pedalled cautiously along, its frame shuddering as the wheels moved over the slippery cobbles. After a time I dismounted, tired and impatient, and walked instead.

‘Damn fog,’ I cursed to myself. ‘Damn bicycle. Damn flaming war.’

Coughing. I wheeled my bike irritably into number eight court, Stanley Street. I wiped my damp face with my hanky. It would be good to see Lisa. She always gave me strength. Despite the cold, the alleys and yards were full of the sounds of children playing out until bedtime. A gaggle of them were shouting shrilly and from somewhere came the sound of dustbin lids being clanged together. At least now the blackout had been lifted to ‘dim out’, more light filtered into the yard through the thin curtains in the houses.

When Lisa opened the door she looked fraught and exhausted. She had on a washed-out fawn-coloured dress, tight across her breasts, with what looked like fat stains down the front. Her hair was unbrushed and she looked set to jump right down my throat.

‘Oh – it’s you,’ she said unceremoniously. ‘Come in.’

‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’ I asked, stepping into the chaotic room. I’d seldom seen her so brusque before.

‘No – you’re all right. It’s just them little buggers out there’ve been banging on my door on and off all evening and it’s driving me mad.’ She seemed close to tears. Her two older children were fighting over the fire-tongs by the grate.