“What time was this?”

“I don’t know but it was starting to rain.”

“What else?”

“I went round the side, thinking, should I wait? Is Mrs. Farrar upstairs? There was a bit of a fire in the garden so I thought perhaps she’d been cutting back brambles and overdone it, got tired and gone to bed. It was, should I or shouldn’t I? Should I go in and make a mug of myself? Should I not go in and be a fool? And then I saw him, coming back along the street from the Arkwrights, carrying his trumpet. I stepped into his view. He was right surprised, asked me what I was doing. ‘Looking for you,’ I said.

“He said, ‘You look upset. You best come in.’ I hung back, feeling stupid. He went inside, and then he screamed. I’ve never heard a man scream. There was Mrs. Farrar on the floor, and him kneeling beside her. I just stood in the doorway. He went to pick her up. Then he called to me. ‘Get yerself home. This is right shocking. Get yerself home.’ And I went to go in but he said, ‘Go. You don’t want to see this.’ And so I went, I just went. And I said nowt.”

“What happened next?”

“Joan would’ve known what to do. I’m useless.”

“You did as he said. You weren’t to know.”

We were quiet for a long time. Through the window, I heard the car setting off to take Gertrude and Benjie to church.

“Did you tell anyone what you saw?”

“No. When it came out, and Stephen was taken, and people started to talk, I’d left it too late. I couldn’t speak up.” She stared at the crumbs on the carpet. “Who’ll believe me if I say it now?”

“Go put on your Sunday frock and your warm coat. You and I are going to the chapel. We’ll join the Temperance Band procession and we’ll think what to do.”

The chapel had emptied by the time we arrived, but the congregation did just that—congregated, in the doorway, on the steps, and on the pavement. There were no other cars in the vicinity, but I parked a few yards from the chapel, so as not to get in the way of the massing band.

It was difficult to count the bandsmen because they all wore the same dark jackets with gold braid and peaked caps with shiny nebs. They strode about, blowing the odd note. There must have been twenty of them, with their trumpets, cornets, tubas, saxophone and trombone. A lad with a drum was ushered to the front. Next to him was a dark-skinned young woman, a little older than Milly. She wore the band’s fine jacket, a cap that was too big, and held a tambourine.

She waved at Milly.

Milly said, “That’s Joan.”

We went over.

There were no introductions.

Joan said to Milly, “I knew you’d come. Mr. Arkwright has a jacket for you.”

“What am I supposed to play?”