I opened the door to a man I recognized from the village. He always touched his cap when we passed one another in the street and had once told me Stefan was a ‘fine handsome lad’.

‘Mrs Hemlock,’ he said, and as he smiled he showed off a mouth that contained only a bottom set of dentures. His top teeth were entirely missing. ‘I’m Carl Nixon.’

We took each other in. My hemline was above the knee and there was a good few inches of pink skin on show before it disappeared into my boots. With my red tunic dress and black ribbon holding back my hair, I have no doubt he enjoyed the view of me a lot more than I did of him. He was tall and clad in overalls and wellington boots that looked as though they had been left at the bottom of a cliff where a thousand seabirds nested. He had curly tresses that he parted on completely the wrong side for the natural inclinations of his grey-black hair and his face had that ruddy, weather-beaten hue that always makes me want to advise a large pot of cold cream and a bag of ice.

‘Can I help you?’ I asked, and I made the effort to say it with something other than cold disdain in my voice.

‘I saw Ray Pellew,’ he said, and I noticed how his bottom lip protruded to accommodate his dentures. It made his accent hard to read. ‘He said you were asking about Fairfax – God rest him – in Samson’s last night. He said I might be able to help.’

I glanced at his boots. It was impossible to tell if they were the same size as the treads left by my bedside.

‘How, exactly?’

He wiped his hands on the front of his overalls. I realized his clothes and hair were damp but I had little wish to invite him in.

‘It was me got Fairfax into the writing, like. Told him a few local yarns.’ He looked away as he said it, embarrassed. ‘Ray said you were asking about it …’

‘I’m not sure I was asking, exactly,’ I said. ‘It’s just, I saw him shortly before the accident and I thought we might have got on. He seemed a nice man. And I feel bad that he was helping me when he died.’

Nixon looked at me from beneath bushy eyebrows. Seemed to be trying to work me out like a crossword.

‘I feel bad meself. Shall we feel bad together?’

Pity got the better of me. I invited him in and he stopped on the step to remove his boots. I snatched up a newspaper from the stack by the coat rail and made sure I placed the wet boots down on their surface. I would have a chance to compare the prints later.

‘I was in the kitchen,’ I said. ‘There’s coffee.’