‘Maybe that’s what happened to Fairfax,’ said Janet, revelling in it. ‘Saw what you saw and got himself in bother.’

‘No!’ I yelled, and it sounded loud in that little muddled room.

Janet stopped and her face reddened. She’d been mean and knew it, but as ever, her embarrassment became temper.

‘You’re a soft soul, Felicity. Was just playing with you. I’ve no time for this now anyways. I’ve got children to feed. You sort this out if you like but when I said I’d help I didn’t know I was clearing up a bomb site. I’ll see you in the week.’

I didn’t speak as she left. Just stood shivering and feeling wretched. I didn’t like being such a weakling but Janet had always enjoyed seeing how long it took to pull my hair before tears came to my eyes.

I went back to tidying. Sorted the stuff into neat piles and took the dirty dishes to the kitchen. Put the map back in the tube without really taking any notice of the words or the place names. I went to the kitchen and washed the pots and poured the milk away. Couldn’t face upstairs. Didn’t want to see the state of his bedroom or breathe in the aroma of an old man’s privacy. Stayed downstairs. Made a pile of useful foods from the fridge and loaded them into a fruit box to take home. I could smell Fairfax in that kitchen no matter what I did. Could smell the man I knew and not the sloven who had left the filth in the other room. I had a sudden memory of him, leaning against the metal draining board, notebook in his hand, asking me questions about my memories of Dad. Memories of school. Of seeing the work crew from Camp 18 fixing fences out towards Low Row. His pencil was a blur. He looked happy and sad as he wrote, like he was enjoying it but knew the enjoyment came from a sad place, if that makes any sense. He wrote to feel close to Christopher, but that was as close as he would ever get.