The weather was turning when she left the church, and by the time she reached the handful of buildings at the foot of the Mount, rain was drifting in waves like the sea, sweeping across the backdrop of woodland and darkening the castle’s stone. She pulled her coat closer around her, cursing the heavy figure that slowed her progress, and headed for the small museum at the side of the harbour. Her husband was busy on the pier, overseeing a delivery of coal and logs, and she changed direction to speak to him. He waved when he saw her coming, but made a point of continuing with his 26work, as if that could deter her from what he knew she was going to ask. ‘Has the post boat been yet?’ she called.

‘Yes, half an hour ago.’

‘And?’

‘There was nothing from Jenna, love. I’d have brought it up straight away.’ It was what she had been expecting, but still she couldn’t hide her disappointment and Tom put his hand on her arm. ‘There’s still a few days before Christmas. Don’t give up hope.’ He meant well, but she shook him off, trying to ignore the hurt in his eyes. Changing the subject, he nodded to the figure in her arms. ‘What are you doing with that?’

‘Getting it mended. Everything’s got to be perfect, apparently. God knows why we’re doing all this extra work for a load of strangers with more money than sense.’

‘It’s for a good cause, Nora. I can’t think what it must be like to leave your home at that age.’

She shrugged, hardly in the mood to be charitable about parents who were losing their children, even if they were refugees; her hardness was out of character, and Tom looked at her impatiently. ‘It’s what she wanted, love. Jenna is happy, even if we find that hard to understand.’

‘You’re sounding just like her now,’ Nora said bitterly, gesturing back to the castle. ‘I’m sick of people telling me what’s for the best and how blessed I should feel. I just want to know that all those years meant something, that she’s missing us like we’re missing her, even if it’s only for a moment. Why can’t you support me in that?’

He walked off, refusing to have the argument again. She watched him stride round to the other side of the harbour and begin to load the first pile of coal into the tram which 27transported goods and luggage up to the castle. No matter how much she loved him and how hard she tried, she couldn’t let him comfort her. She knew that he longed to be enough for her, just as she was for him, but she couldn’t pretend, even to be kind. As the reality of this bleak, empty Christmas opened up before her, she wondered how she would ever find the strength to get through it.

28

4

The late-night tram ground its way defiantly across Blackfriars Bridge, an oblong of warm yellow light moving slowly towards the city as the snow fell thickly around it. Alex Fielding waited for it to pass, then checked the settings on the camera for the final shots of the session. It was a photographer’s job to see the most familiar things as if for the first time, but not even a lifetime’s devotion to this melancholy streak through the city’s heart could exhaust its possibilities. The Thames was always at its finest at dusk, Fielding thought, watching as the oily expanse of water defied the snow’s attempts to settle; somehow, darkness made more sense of the muddled rooftops, chimneys and spires, simplifying the outline of the city in a way which was reassuring, and for a few, comforting hours it was almost possible to believe that life was as easily sorted.