‘I’m glad the shop was empty,’ Charlie told her now, ‘or else I might’ve lost my job. He parked his massive car right on the kerb outside. He asked me, Weren’t you her accomplice once before – why not again? I said, Accomplice? I was just her passenger, and she’s my sister. He said, Pardon me, I must’ve read your file wrong. I suppose you weren’t convicted in a court of law and sent to borstal, then? That wasn’t you? I told him to piss off. He didn’t like that very much. But that was all the damage he could do to me, so off he went. I wouldn’t trust that bloke as far as I could throw him. Joyce detested coppers – all of them. And I can’t say I’ve met a single one who’s proved her judgement wrong.’ He stamped the leavings of his cigarette into the dirt. ‘I reckon I should wander back and help them with the roof. They need as many hands as they can get.’

‘Don’t disappear just yet. I’ve brought you something.’ She rooted in her bag and found what she’d come forty miles to give him. ‘It was in with all the post this morning.’

He took it from her, doubtingly. A picture postcard from Maidstone Zoo. On the front, there were two polar bears inside a brick enclosure. On the back, an empty space and their address, typewritten. Charlie seemed to hold his breath. He had to clear his throat to keep the melancholy from his voice, but she still heard it trembling there. ‘It’s her, it’s – bloody hell, it’s her.’

‘The postmark’s from a TPO in Aberdeen.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It means she would’ve posted it when she was on the train. Or maybe passing through the station.’

He squinted for a tighter focus on the stamp. ‘It took its time to get to you, look. 31st May.’ He sniffed it, too – she’d done the same herself, when she’d removed it from the pile of letters. It had smelled of soot. ‘Who else has seen this?’

‘Mr Mayhood.’

‘What’s his reading of it?’

‘Well, he sent me here. He wanted you to see it before Applegarth showed up again.’

‘I’m grateful.’ He went quiet. ‘She must think I’m still at Leventree …’

‘It seems that way.’

‘Then she can’t know how bad a mess she’s put you in.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘But she’s alive, though – that’s what matters. I mean, she must be doing all right. She’s thinking of me, still.’ He grabbed a handful of his hair and shook it, grinning. ‘Aberdeen. It’s bloody cold up there.’ He rose and stood before her with his back turned. For the longest moment, he was glaring at the sky, as though in consultation with the Lord. ‘Thank you, Florence,’ he said. Twisting round, he put another cigarette between his lips. ‘Thanks for bringing it.’ He lit up, watching her.

‘Of course,’ she said.

‘Tell Mr Mayhood that I really do appreciate it. I know it couldn’t have been easy, doing her a favour.’ With that, he held the bright end of his cigarette up to the corner of the postcard till it peeled away in flames. In seconds, it was just a mothy curl of black and he allowed the breeze to carry it. He shrugged at her and said, ‘For everybody’s sake. I got the message – that’s enough.’ There was a languidness about his strides as he went off, back-pedalling across the grass. The worker on the roof frame cracked his mallet. Charlie stopped, then scratched the stubble by his ear. ‘Listen, can you stick around and have lunch with me?’ he called. ‘There’s a cafe on the high street and it’s not half bad. Just let me tell the fellas.’