Margaret laid her hand on Den’s back, could feel the boy’s scrawniness through his clothes.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled at Philip Tallis. He gave a faint smile in return and did not look away immediately.

‘Oh – the milk!’ Aunt Hatt cried, hurrying to the kitchen. ‘I’ll cut some bread and butter.’

‘Come and sit down, Den.’ Margaret pulled a chair out from the table. ‘You must be hungry.’

Den nodded. Although there was no need for Philip Tallis to stay, he lingered.

‘Children seem to like you,’ he observed. ‘You’re good with them. Daisy’s taken to you.’

‘I suppose I’m used to them.’ She smiled up at him for a second, then helped Den push his chair in. She was glad of having the boy to busy herself with. ‘In the village, where Annie and I come from, we both work with the children. Our father is the minister there, you see.’ She frowned, looking down as all the pain of the rupture with her father rose in her. How normal it all sounded – this is where we live, this is what I do, as if all was as it should be.

‘So what brings you here?’ Philip Tallis asked, puzzled.

‘Oh – it’s a long story.’ A horrible flush of shame passed over her that she was sure he must be able to see. Why had she said anything about home? It had all slipped out without her thinking. It was where she came from, who she was – or used to be. This thought came with a jolt. She held on to the back of Den’s chair. The boy had leaned forward to rest his head on his arms, seeming utterly spent.

‘We’re just here for a little change.’ She made her voice light, managing a brief smile. ‘Annie wanted to come especially. She was always hungry to see more of the world.’

‘I see.’ He fingered the edge of his bowler hat. Did she sense disappointment in him at this? ‘Well, Daisy’ll miss you if you go again.’

‘Yes.’ Margaret wished she had never ventured into this now. ‘I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying. Until Christmas, I think.’ She looked up at him, unsure what else to say. Despite her discomfort she found she did not want him to leave but she did want to change the subject.

‘I . . . A while ago,’ she stumbled on, ‘I saw a bowl – a silver bowl – on the table in your room. The door was open, I mean . . .’ She blushed, thinking how nosey she must sound. ‘Daisy said you made it.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do some things of my own, when I get the time.’

‘Oh!’ Her heart was beating fast. ‘I would love to see some of your work!’