Brian smirked. He shuffled sideways a little. He was only wearing his underpants beneath the dressing gown. The material hung like stage curtains across his skinny white body.

‘Were that Loz dropping ye off?’ he asked. ‘Yer gev us a start. Thought he were after me. I’ve had two bellyfuls of petrol out that tractor o’ his. Thought he’d worked it out.’

Behind Cordelia the rain continued to pour. There was only one street light and it illuminated the sad shape of Fairfax’s cottage across the street. The light died before it reached Pike’s ragged cottage down the hill. The church, a little further down, was no more than a square of darkness; an unlit furnace in a coal cellar.

‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ I said, feeling myself start babbling as I stepped back down the corridor. ‘I was doing mince …’

Her face fell. ‘I should have rung,’ she said.

‘Wouldn’t do no good,’ said Brian. ‘We aint got a phone.’

‘We use Fairfax’s, if it’s an emergency,’ I said, and I swear it felt like somebody had my heart in their fist and were squeezing it. ‘Used it, I mean.’

‘That’ll have to stop,’ said Brian, standing between us at the foot of the stairs. He had one of his comics in his pocket, sticking out like a truncheon. The Man From U.N.C.L.E. maybe, or one of his old ones from when he liked cowboy films. He was smirking, like he always did. I could smell cigarettes on him. He liked to smoke while he tied his fishing flies. Had a talent for it. I’ve pulled plenty hooks and barbs out of his fingers over the years but the finished fly is always something beautiful. Could have sold them if he’d had any interest in making an honest living.

‘Brian, take Mrs Hemlock’s coat.’

‘I’m not the butler,’ he said, looking her up and down.

‘Brian!’ I snapped, wishing that he cared enough about my feelings not to show me up. ‘Do as you’re told.’