They shook hands at that. Something passed between them that said this would be the end of it. Harper had done no wrong and John hadn’t shown himself up. I think I envied them. Envied them the ridiculous simplicity of their association.

‘I’ll be docked a half day,’ said John, when there was just the three of us in the kitchen. He seemed relieved at being able to immerse himself in the simple comfort of grumbling. ‘I’ll owe Graffoe a few good turns too. Dropped everything to run me home. Bloody hell, Felicity, but you scared me.’

She hadn’t turned from the window. Her whole body seemed to be a cocoon, as if she were holding something precious within herself.

‘You’ll be wanting to say thank you to your youngest,’ I said, and I almost laughed at how unlike the locals I sounded as I said it. ‘He pushed her out of the way. Brave lad. Good boy.’

It sounded ridiculous against my lips. I’d read Ulysses, for God’s sake, and here I was, dealing in monosyllabic platitudes. I repulsed myself. Repelled, now I think on it.

‘Is he all right?’ asked John.

‘Scratches, but he’s tough. Like his mam. His dad.’

John nodded. Gave his wife a look and then nodded, more to himself than to either one of us. He turned and I followed him down the corridor to the front room. It was a cold, unwelcoming space. The sofa was a brown and grey leather with tartan cushions which clashed spectacularly with the pink and apricot swirls of the wallpaper. An electric fire sat in an unlit hearth, edged with beige tiles. The coffee table in the centre of the room was made of cheap wood varnished to a gaudy gloss, and the dresser against the wall contained good china cups and saucers that looked as though they had never been used. With the curtains drawn it looked as miserable as the kitchen looked inviting.

‘Is she really all right?’ he asked, turning to me like he was being controlled by strings. ‘They said not to panic, but I’ve got myself in such a lather. And Brian. Bloody hell, is it true? Did he push her out the way? What were he doing there? It were school today, weren’t it? That lad’ll be the death of both of us …’

I let him talk. He needed it. Needed to rail against the inadequacies of his life and the failings of others so he could avoid staring at the horror of what might have happened that day.

‘She don’t need this,’ said John, hands on his hips, looking at the floor. ‘I thought she did. Thought it might bring summat out of her. But it’s gone ’tother way. That’ll do, eh?’

‘What do you mean?’