Vera Walton stared at the young man standing on her doorstep. She had been expecting Adam, knowing Ruby’s mother would have to tell him where she had gone, and she had been all set to let fly once he was in front of her. He had hurt the girl she thought of as a daughter beyond belief, betrayed her in the worse possible way, and she was angry and bitterly disappointed in him. Moreover he was the means of causing the dear child to flee Sunderland, to leave her, and although she knew it was selfish to think of herself at this time, Ruby’s loss was almost more than she could bear. Now though, as she looked at Adam, she couldn’t bring herself to upbraid him. She had always thought him handsome with an air of virility she could imagine was very attractive to young women, but the man standing in front of her seemed to have aged ten, twenty years since the last time she had seen him. He looked ill; not just ill, she told herself, but broken.

In spite of herself and her love for Ruby, she found herself saying, ‘Come in, Adam. We can’t talk on the doorstep and you look as though you need a hot drink. Have you slept at all?’

‘What?’ He looked at her so vacantly she could see he was having trouble processing her words, and then he muttered, ‘No, no, I haven’t been to bed. I’ve been out walking since first light, trying to get myself together before I went to see Ruby but her mam said she left there last night to come here.’

Vera stood to one side and indicated for him to come into the house, and once inside she turned the sign in the shop window to ‘Closed’ and bolted the door. Leading him through the shop and into her small sitting room-cum-kitchen, she sat him down on the sofa Ruby had occupied the night before and then put the kettle on the hob. The blackleaded range took up almost one wall of the room and Vera kept the open fire in the middle of it going day and night, winter and summer. Consequently the room was as warm as toast and the contrast to outside caused Adam to shiver convulsively.

When Vera said softly, ‘You’re frozen, lad. Your lips are blue,’ he didn’t speak, but lowered his head swiftly as a rush of tears came into his stricken eyes.

It wasn’t until Vera pressed a mug of hot tea laced with the brandy from the cupboard into his cold hands, that he raised his head.

‘What am I going to do?’ he whispered. ‘I can’t live without Ruby, Mrs Walton.’