‘At the farm,’ she said, as she shuffled out of her coat. She kept her stripy scarf wrapped around her neck. The cottage was still ridiculously cold and the weather seemed a few degrees chillier than it had been the previous week. I had the fire on in the front room but it still made little difference unless you were sitting right in front of it. I kept meaning to install central heating – it just never seemed like the right time to employ strangers, to let them into our cottage, our safe house, plus there was the expense.

‘But that’s a bit of a trek,’ I replied. The farm was on the other side of the village. ‘What kind of work will you be doing?’ I asked, as she handed me a mug. It was so cold in the kitchen that I could see the steam rising.

‘Odd jobs. Grooming the horses, mucking out, that kind of thing. I prefer being with animals to people. Apart from you and Lolly, of course.’ She sipped her tea, regarding me over the rim of the mug, and my heart melted.

So Daphne went to work at the farm. Trudging the mile and a half there and back every day, her crocheted hat pressed down on her new hair, whatever the weather, coming home smelling of horses and straw but happy, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Free, like a tiger released into the wild after being kept at a zoo, roaming around the farm, happy to be outside rather than cooped up in the pub, felt up by landlords and leered at by drunken customers. I was relieved to see she appeared less anxious about being found.

‘Why don’t you do it too?’ she said, after she’d been there a few days. ‘It would be fun working together. I’m left to my own devices a lot, can keep my head down. It’s so nice not having anyone asking questions. The farmer, Mick, is gruff, lets me get on with it. There’s another guy there, Sean. He’s new too, handsome, if you like that kind of thing.’

But it was hard for me to get a job. You weren’t due to start school for two more years.

‘Maybe when Lolly starts school,’ I replied.

I had calculated I had enough in savings to do a few repairs on the house with some left to tide me over until then. I didn’t charge Daphne that much for her room – after all, the cottage was hardly luxurious – and she paid a third of the food bill. But she was good with money, I’d noticed. She was frugal, always making sure to buy bargains wherever she could; tins at the corner shop that were going cheap because of their sell-by dates, not to mention the money she saved me on clothes for you by knocking up patterns on her sewing machine.