‘You see,’ Emma was saying gamely, ‘my own daughter Liz, you remember Liz? Liz is going to have a baby.’

‘Yes,’ said Ruth, seriously, interested.

‘And Liz wants me to go and look after her. And Liz lives in Cheltenham, which is a long way away.’

Ruth nodded. She understood.

She said, business-like, ‘When are we going?’

‘Oh darling,’ cried Emma. ‘Oh darling.’ And could not manage any more.

Rachaela said, ‘You won’t be going, Ruth. Emma has to go. Her daughter needs her. You’ll have to stay here.’

‘No,’ said Ruth, reasonably, I’ll go with Emma.’

Emma said, ‘Darling, I’m afraid—you can’t. You can’t come with me. I wish you could.’

Liar, Rachaela thought.

Ruth looked blank. She held the seahorse out and gazed at it, as if searching its curves for an answer.

‘You must stay here,’ said Emma, ‘and look after Mummy.’

‘No,’ said Ruth, quietly.

‘Yes, Ruth. That’s how it’s meant to be. I’ve just been borrowing you. It’s been so lovely. And we’ll stay good friends. I’ll write to you every week. I promise. I’ll tell you all about Cheltenham.’

‘No,’ said Ruth. She had not screamed.

‘And I expect I’ll come and see you,’ said Emma. ‘I’ll bring you wonderful presents.’

‘No,’ said Ruth.

‘And maybe one day you can visit me. Rachaela can bring you on the train.’

‘No,’ said Ruth.

‘Oh dear,’ said Emma, ‘darling you must try to understand. It’s very hard I know. I’ll miss you dreadfully. But poor Liz, I have to go. She’s my daughter.’

Ruth said nothing.

She took her picture back with her behind the screen. The bells did not ring.

Emma looked at Rachaela.

‘I’d better leave,’ said Emma. She rubbed her forehead. Plainly she had a headache. ‘If she wants any of her things...’

‘When will you go?’ asked Rachaela.

Ruth must be listening behind the screen.

‘She did say as quickly as possible—Brian will pick me up at the station. Then he said he’d arrange to get my stuff moved out. Liz is pretty desperate.’

Desperate.

‘A month?’

‘More—more like a fortnight,’ Emma faltered. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said again, and went out.

She had not cried. Naturally. What had she to cry about? Ruth had not cried either. Perhaps the outburst would come.

Rachaela looked out at the dusk on the snow street, and the snow piled up against the walls, the pedestrians slipping and sidling along the ice.

The silence in the room was deafening.