‘That wasn’t Margaret,’Joe said. ‘We buried her, if you remember.’ He didn’t say, When I was a priest. Didn’t say, I wasn’t up to the job, not at Margaret’s funeral. How could he have given comfort to Geoffrey at that time?

‘Her name was Barbara Hummel,’ Joe said, raising his voice and enunciating the syllables. He turned to Pierre, spoke softly. ‘I sent her away. You probably passed her on the road.’

Pierre looked across at Geoffrey, who was still struggling to hear over the feedback from his hearing aid. ‘Why?’ Pierre said. ‘Why send her away?’ Added, softly, so Geoffrey couldn’t hear, ‘You know he loved that woman Dora?’

‘I won’t rush into having the Hummel woman in my kitchen without–’ Joe paused, reached for the word. ‘Without provenance. I want to know who she is and how she got the photo of Dora.’

‘You can ask her,’ Pierre said.

‘She looked nice,’ Geoffrey was saying. ‘Reminds me of someone. Will she come again?’

‘She’ll be back.’

‘You’re sure?’ Pierre said.

‘She said as much. See,’ Joe said, lowering his voice again so Geoffrey couldn’t hear. ‘She could be up to mischief. One of those journalists who stir up dirt on the war.’

‘Did she say why she wanted to find out who Dora was?’ Pierre said.

‘No. But she did say she thought she might have traced Dora. I want to be sure. Why upset him unless we know for certain?’

‘We could have done Betsy some other time,’ Pierre said. ‘You could have pressed her.’

Joe shook his head. ‘It’s Betsy’s time now. And the woman will be back. Are you ready?’

Pierre stood up. Geoffrey folded the newspaper and put it back on the dresser.

It had taken a dram or two to steel them up before, and a few more drams to soften them down after, for none of them, Joe thought, were natural slaughter men. It was past midnight by the time they’d cleaned up and Pierre had salted the hide ready to take to Docherty’s haulage, no questions asked, and they’d polished off the last of the whiskey. Joe took Geoffrey up to bed, helped him undress and put on his pyjamas, made sure he’d been to the lavatory and his pot was under the bed. The old man needed to get up in the night and Joe didn’t like him going down the stairs by himself, not with his dodgy leg and his poor eyesight.

‘We’ll be going to town tomorrow,’ Joe said. ‘You need new underpants, and a couple of shirts wouldn’t go amiss.’