“Did you kill her?”

He sighed. The question was an old one now. It had been thrown at him a hundred times, along with fists. “I would never have hurt Mrs. Farrar. Everyone knows that.”

“Who knows it?”

“Everyone. They came to the prison the night after I was taken. I heard them.”

“Who?”

“My workmates, pals from the band, Milly and Joan.”

“Milly and Joan?”

“I heard Eric playing the trumpet. I didn’t hear the tambourine but I know Joan would have been bashing it. Milly would be there.”

“What did they play?”

He shrugged. “Eric stopped in the middle of a note. He must’ve been moved on.”

“Will you tell me what happened on Friday?”

“I’ve telled it overmuch.”

“To the police?”

“Aye.”

“And a solicitor?”

He gave a snort. “He were in a hurry, had better things to do.”

“If you didn’t kill Mrs. Farrar, tell me what you can. Perhaps I can help.”

“No one can. They’ve made up their minds to blame me.”

“At least let’s try. Were you at work on Friday?”

Slowly, the story slid from him and filled the small room.

He finished his shift at the pit where he worked on the winding machinery. He went back to where he lodged, above Mrs. Farrar’s shop, bringing fish and chips for them as he did on a Friday night. While they ate, the water was heating for his bath. It was band practice night. He filled the tin bath. He always did. It was too heavy for Mrs. Farrar. He took the bath into the house. She was moving about in the scullery.

While he took his bath, he noticed that everything that would polish was polished. The house smelled of lavender. She had brought in daffodils from the garden, arranged in a painted jam jar. Everything shone, as though she was expecting someone. The brasses gleamed. She had starched the antimacassar. It had been like that for a few days, no dust allowed, but she hadn’t said what brought it on, and he hadn’t asked.

He was glad she was cheerful because a while before she had seemed miserable. But of course, they all had.

Apart from that, all was usual. He called to her when he was ready for his back washing. She washed his back, and then left him to it.

He emptied the bath where they’d planted potatoes. He hung it back on the nail outside.

The suit he wore to band practice had been Mr. Farrar’s. It fitted him right well. Mrs. Farrar was glad that there was use for it. He took his trumpet and set off for practice. He played with the Temperance Band.

After band practice, he walked Joan home. She lived on Silver Street. He wouldn’t say she lodged there because Mr. and Mrs. Arkwright were more like mam and dad to her, just as Mrs. Farrar was like a gran to him. They were both lucky, him and Joan. They had been lucky up until last Friday.