The loud knocking on the front door is so unexpected that Tilda lets out a small scream. Feeling foolish, she walks briskly down the hall. ‘Just a minute,’ she calls out as she wrestles with the aged key and the bolts, which have become sticky through lack of use. When at last she gets the door open, she finds a wiry-looking man in a cycling helmet standing on the doorstep. On seeing Tilda, surprise registers minutely on his face. She is accustomed to watching the reaction of strangers to her appearance. Used to seeing herself seen for the first time. Time and time again. Seeing the curiosity. The unasked questions. Sometimes even a little fear. She remembers that she is not wearing her lenses, and so is impressed that her caller does so well to mask his feelings. He even manages a smile.

‘Sorry,’ he says, unbuckling his chin strap, ‘I should have gone round the back. I’m Bob,’ he offers her his business card. ‘You called me about your fuses.’

‘Oh! The electrician. Of course. Somehow I didn’t expect you to arrive on a bike.’

‘I like to cycle when I can, if I’m going somewhere I can manage without my ladders.’ He shakes his head, gesturing back toward the track. ‘Mind you, it’s quite a climb you’ve got there. Think I’ll bring the van next time.’

Tilda lets him in and shows him to the fuse box. Thistle slinks in from the kitchen to inspect the visitor, decides he is not a threat, and returns to her cushion by the Rayburn. Tilda fetches Bob a cup of tea and hands it to him when he has finished checking the system.

‘Well? Is it hopeless?’ she asks. ‘It’s bound to be ancient, but we had a survey done when we bought the place, and I don’t remember reading that it would need replacing.’

Bob shakes his head. ‘It’s not in bad shape, really. Must have been rewired fairly recently. Someone did a pretty good job of it.’ To make his point he throws the main power switch and light is restored.

‘So why does it keep tripping out?’ Tilda finds herself blinking, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the new level of brightness.

Bob shrugs. ‘Must be something you’ve got plugged in. Something you’ve installed.’

‘There isn’t anything I can think of. Only my kiln, but I haven’t switched that on yet.’

‘Be careful when you do. Have you got it on the right circuit? Those things are pretty heavy on power.’

‘Yes, the manufacturer sent someone to set it up.’

They both stand in the hall, waiting. Tilda finds herself almost wanting the fuses to blow again, just so there is something for Bob to actually fix.

‘Now I feel stupid,’ she says. ‘Seems like I dragged you up here for nothing.’