Dorothy Light opened the door swiftly as if she had a place to go. A tiny woman with pointed features and mousy hair scraped into a bun, she wore a drab mustard-coloured dress and a brown apron tied at the waist. Her make-up on the other hand was vivid: bright slabs of blue eyeshadow, daring dabs of rouge, a pink slash of lipstick.

‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

Connie held out the tea towel she’d retrieved from the line. A souvenir of the coronation, and no doubt Kenneth’s, but a good enough excuse to knock. ‘I think this might be yours.’

Dorothy shook her head. ‘Oh no, speak to Kenneth. It’s most likely his.’ Then, when Connie stayed, she added, ‘Is there anything else?’

Connie cleared her throat. ‘I wondered if you had Johnny’s address.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t. Why do you want it?’

Connie lowered her voice. Walls had ears, as her mother used to say, and so did people lurking – and right now she could hear Kenneth’s shuffle and the tap of his silver-topped stick. ‘There’s something I need to tell him.’

‘What kind of something?’ Dorothy narrowed her gaze. She had small eyes, blue like her son’s, but that was the only resemblance. Johnny was tall with broad shoulders. He took up space. Dorothy was compact.

Connie shifted where she stood. She could feel the sweat beneath the waistband of her dress. All morning she had felt stifled in the airless flat. Her father had gone to the bookshop even though it was Sunday. He was waiting for word of an interesting item as he called it, a rare book put up for sale by a private collector in York. When the time came, he would travel to York to fetch it and Connie had suggested he tie it in with a visit to Aunt Maud in Whitby.

‘It’s about an art exhibition,’ said Connie, flushing at the untruth and trying to recall what artists were actually showing in London. Dorothy looked blank. ‘It’s a brilliant exhibition, so if you do hear from him . . .’

Still no response. Connie’s shoulders slumped. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was two o’clock already. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Dorothy was looking at her with a curious expression. ‘I think you’d better come in.’