As did his daughter. But he must forget Charlotte, at least for the moment. A heart could only bear so much at a time. God never supposedly gave anyone more than they could withstand, but lately Joda had come to suspect his Creator had overestimated him. As he did every night, he uttered a silent prayer that his wife sleep peacefully.

He’d closed the pub early, unable to face another late shift. Besides, no-one had set foot in the Bell since Ellie had come to tell him about Tony Harper. That poor boy. Troubled, yes, but not wicked. Frozen in the snow. Lost and drunk, most likely, on Joda’s beer.

Joda’s hand became a fist, but he relaxed his fingers and continued stroking Barbara’s face instead. He had guilt enough without holding himself responsible for every drunk who staggered in and out. It was a struggle to stay afloat, especially in the winter months, and they had nowhere to go if they lost the pub. He had a family to provide for. But he could never shake the fear that he’d somehow failed his only child.

Charlotte ate, had clothes on her back and a bed to sleep in. That mattered. But summed up that way, it sounded cold as well; Man didn’t live by bread alone, and children looked to their parents for affection and care as well. And the more of Barbara her illness had taken, the less Joda had had to give to his daughter.

Barbara was still now, almost at rest. When her face relaxed in sleep, some of the lines on it faded. Joda ran his thumb across a sparse, wiry eyebrow.

He provided, as a father should. For the rest, if anything, he was too forbearing. Joda’s father would never have allowed one of his daughters to see – as if seeing was all that happened – a boy like David Chapple. Joda had seen a hundred boys like that – might even have become one, in his wilder days. At least his fathers – earthly and heavenly – had prevented that. But what was he to do?

Joda’s father would have ordered Charlotte to have no more to do with the boy, and yes, might have beaten her if she’d disobeyed. But that wasn’t how things were done – not here, not now. Besides, if Joda ordered Charlotte not to see David, she’d only become more determined to. As for raising his hand to her – Barbara would be furious if he did that. It might kill her, for which Charlotte would likely hold herself as guilty as him. More to the point, it wouldn’t keep her from the Chapple boy – it would guarantee she ran away to him, if anything.

It was like trying to grip jelly in your hand; the more tightly you squeezed, the more surely it slid between your fingers. All he could do was cup it gently and hope that was enough.