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tell Dadabout this.’ I noticed that he had accepted my ‘we’ as natural. ‘Look, I’ll ask him first thing if he knew about the safe, and if there was another key, and I’ll find out from Mum if that plaster on the floor was dry.’
    He pushed the door as far shut as it would go, then hung the Unseen Guest back in its place. ‘And you can forget about squatters. I’ve come this way on my bike two nights out of five the last month, with a job I’m doing at Swords Farm, and there’s never been anyone about. And Mum would have seen signs if people had been in the house. So you don’t need to be scared, but if you are—’
    ‘I’m not. Truly. Just worried, and just wishing I could think of some explanation. I mean, if it was a thief they’d have taken the valuables, but they’d surely have left the papers, or just chucked them in the fireplace or something. Hang on a minute’ – and I was on my knees, destroying Mrs Pascoe’s carefully laid fire – ‘No, only newspaper. And they were so tidy, weren’t they? They cleared most of the plaster away, and the torn wallpaper …’ I got to my feet again. ‘Oh, well, there’s nothing we can do for now, is there? But thanks for everything, Davey, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, really.’
    ‘If you’re sure. Good night, then.’
    After he had gone I sat for a while, thinking, before getting up to re-lay the fire and put a match to it. The bright blaze brought the room alive, and even made a kind of company. Home. It was a long time since I had sat by this fire, but it felt like yesterday. I got myself some supper, then found the Penguin I had bought forthe train journey and read for an hour or two without thinking more than fifty times about the empty safe, and finally, when the grandmother clock said eleven, went up to bed.

8

    Next morning I was up very early, but had barely finished my coffee when I heard the sound of trotting hoofs coming down the lane from the road.
    I went out to meet the farmer, a wiry middle-aged man with a face carved out of sunburned teak, who jumped down from the cart and came up the path carrying his wire basket of milk bottles.
    ‘’Morning. Nice to see you back. How’re you keeping?’
    ‘Good morning, Mr Blaney. I’m fine, thanks. And you?’
    ‘Mustn’t grumble. And Mrs Welland?’
    ‘She’s had flu, but she’s mending. I’ll tell her you asked.’
    ‘You do that. How many?’
    ‘Do I have a choice? We’re rationed in town.’
    ‘Not here, you’re not. A pint do? And two-three fresh eggs if it suits you? I’ve got some in the cart. And I’ve got your suitcase there, too. I picked it up at thestation. Mr Harbottle said I might as well bring it down home for you.’
    (Home?
I remember, I remember
. But I was only here in passing, to pack up and then abandon the house where I was born, however much it seemed to want to wrap me around with familiar things. I had a job, a place elsewhere that I would soon go back to. There was nothing here for me now, not for Kate Herrick.)
    I thanked Mr Blaney, and accepted his offer of eggs, while he asked a bit more about Gran and her new house (how had he heard that?) and whether or not she meant ever to come back to Todhall. He seemed to be in no hurry, and I saw why. His mare, left to herself in the lane, had trotted on to where it widened near the bridge, and there, with a couple of expert heaves of her rump, she turned the cart neatly and came back to the gate, ready for the return journey.
    ‘She hasn’t forgotten her old round, then,’ I said.
    ‘Rosy? Never forgets anything. Dunno how I’d do without her. If I was to miss a call on my round, she’d take me back there and refuse to shift till I’d done it. Dear knows what I’ll do when she gets her cards.’
    ‘She must be pretty old now? I remember her – oh, for years back.’
    ‘She’ll be about seventeen. What I reckon, when she looks like going, I’ll get myself one of those motor vans. I