‘I’ll say, “I’m a very old friend of Mrs Overs. I’ve seen the baseless and threatening letter that you wrote to her, and as a journalist I’m keen to hear your side of the story before I go to the police.”’

‘You’d really say that?’

‘I would.’

Vee put a hand over her eyes. It took Jepson a moment to understand why, and another for him to locate a handkerchief.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean …’

‘I’m all right,’ she said, waving the handkerchief away. She removed the hand from her face and sat upright, blinking rapidly. ‘I’m not used to it … I mean, I’ve always had to work out how to do everything by myself. It’s unexpected. Thank you.’ She said the last words with a nod and a stab at a smile.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Jepson.

For a while, they sat together in silence; for once, Vee didn’t feel the urge to fill it.

‘You asked why,’ said Jepson.

‘Oh, no, you don’t have to say.’ She was suddenly worried that it was pity, or Moral Duty.

‘Teaching Noel has been one of the great pleasures of my life,’ he said. ‘And now that I know his story, I can’t bear to think of what would have happened if you hadn’t chosen to do what you did. But more than that, I’d forgotten what it was like to look forward to coming home after work – to return to somewhere pleasant. So I suppose you could say that this is my thanks. The past year has been …’

He said something that she couldn’t quite hear.

‘It’s been what?’

‘Balm,’ he said, looking down.

‘One cocoa. We’re out of fruit loaf, but I’ve brought you the end of the jam roll,’ said the waitress, clunking the bowl on the table behind.

‘Over here, please,’ said Vee.

‘Oh, all change at Crewe, is it?’

The woman shifted the cup and bowl across. Jepson was still looking at the table-top, running a finger over his moustache.

Poor chap, thought Vee, surprising herself; her own worries had a tendency to jostle aside sympathy for others.

‘My mother was very fond of that Bible verse,’ she said. ‘Still is, I suppose. “Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician?” I always remember sitting in chapel and thinking that Gilead would be a nice name for a boy, but then I ended up calling mine Donald.’

‘Why?’

‘It was after a character in a book we read at school. Donald Farfrae.’

‘From The Mayor of Casterbridge? You like Hardy?’

‘That’s the only one of his I ever read. Nobody was very happy in the end, from what I remember.’

‘No – well, I suppose he might have considered that unhappy endings were more true to life. Though, personally, I prefer Dickens, where everything turns out well.’ He smiled at her, rather shyly, and Vee felt suddenly very flustered.

‘We’ll miss supper,’ she said, looking at the café clock. ‘I don’t know what excuse I’ll give to Noel. He’s been out of sorts since Christmas, I can’t do anything right. He didn’t take to Mario, of course – and I know I scared him when I couldn’t get back from Brighton. I can’t talk to him as well as I used to. Do you think it’s his age?’ And she thought of her son, Donald, who had walked out of earshot somewhere on the road between jolly boy and silent adult.