He paused, and looked at Alison with such deep affection she felt she was one of his very own, as dear to him as anyone ever had been. ‘I don’t know what ails you, love, and I know you’d tell me if you could. I wish I could help, but I can say this, you come here any time you want to. Come and sit in here with these birds, and find some peace.’

‘Mr Lawrence,’ Alison said, ‘you’re so good to me.’

‘Aye, well, you’re a grand lass, and you’ve a lot on your plate, I can see that.’

There was a tap-tap on the door, and Mrs Lawrence pushed it open with her foot. She had a mug of tea in each hand. ‘I’ve brought you this,’ she said, bustling in and handing them over, causing a momentary flutter in the boxes, a kind of communal agitation, a gentle hubbub that lasted only seconds before subsiding.

‘Now then,’ she said, looking meaningfully between her husband and Alison. ‘Now then, what was all that about?’ Bill shook his head at her, a subtle warning to go easy, and she understood well enough what he meant, but she said, ‘No, Bill, enough pussyfooting about. I need to know what’s wrong, because if she’s this upset, it might affect our Daniel.’

‘Oh,’ Alison said, alarmed. She stood, abruptly.

‘Nay, lass, sit down,’ Mr Lawrence said, but she didn’t.

‘Alison, tell me what’s happened.’

Mrs Lawrence had had enough, Alison could tell this from her voice, from her demeanour, and she tried, she really tried, to respond in kind, to be as open and straightforward as Mrs Lawrence was being, and wanted her to be, but all she managed was, ‘It … I … My brother, he …’ and then she stopped.

‘Well, so, your brother …’ Mrs Lawrence said. ‘What about him, Alison?’

She wasn’t being unkind, not at all; she made every effort to keep her voice soft with sympathy. But Marion Lawrence had a limited capacity to wait and see, and whatever troubles this young woman had, Daniel mustn’t suffer because of them, and he wouldn’t, not if she had anything to do with it. Somebody needed to get to the heart of the matter, and if Bill wouldn’t, she would.

Alison put her tea down on the bench she’d been sitting on. She felt hemmed in; three people was one too many in this small shed full of pigeons, and Mrs Lawrence was standing full square, with her arms folded and her chin up, waiting for answers. ‘I’m sorry,’ Alison said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She felt completely unequal to this encounter and desperate to leave. She had no right to be here without Daniel, no claim on their time or their kindness, these good, good people; she should leave, she must go.