The rest of the day crawled by, filled with memories of the last Christmas Day with Davey, and as the snow thickened and the light vanished earlier than usual the kitchen was lit only by the glow of the fire. Normally she loved this time when Betsy had her late-afternoon nap and the kitchen was cosy and quiet, but since the accident the ability to find joy had melted away. And now there was Nathaniel too, always hovering at the back of her mind and making her jump at her own shadow.

Prompted by this last thought, Rose locked and bolted the back door and then closed the curtains. Sitting down in one of the armchairs by the range, she closed her eyes. At some point over the last hours she’d come to the decision that the only way forward was to take in lodgers. The front room was bare except for the three-piece suite she and Davey had bought; they had been saving to buy a chiffonier and a nest of tables at some point in the future. She could sell the suite and buy two single beds and a wardrobe from the Emporium in High Street East with the proceeds. They specialized in second-hand furniture and as long as the beds were reasonable, they would do. She could move Betsy in with her and buy two single beds for that room with the money from the shipyard, along with bedding. If she didn’t have enough cash, she’d have to pay off the remainder week by week. It cost more that way but that couldn’t be helped. She could take in washing too to supplement her income. She would manage. Somehow she would make ends meet, she had to.

She must have fallen asleep because she awoke with a start a little while later to knocking on the back door. She didn’t move or make a sound, her heart beginning to slam against her chest, because she knew who it was.

The handle of the door was tried a few times, and then Nathaniel’s voice came, deep and angry: ‘Rose? Rose, are you in there? What’s going on? Open the damn door.’

She put her thumb in her mouth, biting down hard and praying Betsy wouldn’t wake up and begin to cry.