He sat down and picked up a fountain pen from a pot on the windowsill. He had to shake it a few times before it would make a mark on the paper, but he eventually got the ink flowing. He lifted the pen, letting the nib hover just above the creamy paper and exhaled.

And that was how he sat, staring at a spotless page of empty lines, for a good ten minutes. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he stood up, threw the pen down, and stormed out of the room.

He tugged on a fleece and headed out the back door. Lewis followed behind and immediately disappeared down the garden, running after an unseen quarry with glee. Brody shook his head then entered one of the small outbuildings in his yard. It was pretty rough-looking, with no plaster on the walls, and a rumpled and crumbling concrete floor, but it had electricity and everything else he needed. He flicked on the light and the old oil-filled heater sitting on the floor, then pulled a tarp off a long workbench.

Underneath were tools and some partially carved wooden shapes: rings, chunky blocks, a few other irregular pieces. He picked up one of the rings. It was still rough in places where the grain had fought being shaped. He reached for a piece of sandpaper and gently, rhythmically, rubbed the possible splinters away, using finer and finer grades of paper until the object was smooth and shiny, ready for paint.

He worked on five rings, each progressively smaller than the last, and when that was done, he began painting them in colours so bright they jarred with the muted greens, soft greys and cool browns of the moor outside.

Leaving them to dry, he hauled a large box from under the workbench and placed it on top. It was full of similar wooden shapes in bright colours. He stared at the assortment of handmade toys for a moment and began pulling them out one by one, assessing them. Most went back in the box once it was empty. One or two remained on the workbench. Not quite perfect. He’d see to them later.

Once all the acceptable pieces had been loaded back in the box, he looked at it and sighed. Moji had left a message on his landline answerphone last week, saying she was desperate for stacking rings and building blocks. According to her, there’d been a bit of a baby boom in Totnes. Her children’s book and toyshop was crying out for more stock.

He would make one of his semi-regular deliveries today, more to help Moji out than because he needed the money his hobby brought in. In the days when he’d earned plenty, he’d invested well, and he lived frugally now. Still, a little extra spending money wouldn’t hurt.

However, the thought of leaving Dartmoor, of driving into town, even one as quaint and friendly as Totnes, filled Brody’s stomach with ice. He ignored the sensation, opened the workshop door and whistled for Lewis, who came running immediately, ears raised, eyes aglow with anticipation.