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abruptly down from his shoulders, so that I felt giddy and sick.
    ‘Say thank you,’ Aunt Elsie said.
    I did not know what I was to thank him for. I had seen nothing. Nothinghad happened. I told my aunt.
    ‘A wicked evil man has been hanged to death and you were here, you witnessed it, you saw justice done. Never forget it.’

Eight
    Iris Chater had told Dr Deerbon that she was tired but she had not been able to find the words to convey just how tired. Every day since Harry’s death had been a struggle, with an exhaustion that muddled her mind and seemed to fill her limbs with warm wet sand. When she went to the shops – and she always chose those nearby now, she had not been into the centre of Lafferton for weeks – shecould have got down on the pavement and slept there.
    Now, she lay on the sofa in the front room. It was the middle of December. The tiredness was worse, even though she had just slept for over two hours. The fire sputtered and the curtains were half drawn. The birds were quiet under their cover.
    She could see that it had turned dark outside. That was one of the harder things about being aloneat this back end of the year, the dark early and late, making the days so short and the nights never-ending.
    But for the moment, warm under a rug, she felt comfortable, and oddly happy. The room seemed to hold herin a glowing embrace and the warmth eased the arthritis in her knees. Best of all, she had the feeling, which came and went so unpredictably, that Harry was in the room with her. Aftera moment, she spoke his name aloud, quietly, tentatively, startled by the sound of her own voice.
    ‘Harry?’
    She heard nothing but she knew he had answered her. She put out her hand.
    ‘Oh, Harry love, it is hard, it’s very hard. I know you’re happy and not in pain any more and I’m glad about that, of course I am, only I do miss you so much. I never dreamed I’d find it so hard. You won’t go rightaway from me, will you? So long as I know you’re here with me like this, I can manage.’
    She willed him to be sitting in the chair opposite, to be able to see him, not only sense his presence, to have him show her he was all right, and not changed.
    ‘I want to see you, Harry.’
    The gas fire flared suddenly, and the flame went blue for a second. She held her breath, willing and praying.
    He wasthere.
    ‘I want to see you,’ she wailed aloud, and the sudden cold certainty that she would not, and the disappointment of it, were as bitter and sharp as at the beginning.
    The tap on the back door made her start, until she heard Pauline Moss calling and struggled to get up from the sofa.
    ‘I’m all right, I’m in here.’
    Pauline was a good neighbour, a good friend, only just sometimes less thanwelcome. There were days when Iris thought she would prefer never to see or speak to another living soul again.
    ‘I’ve made some drop scones. Shall I put the kettle on?’
    Iris Chater wiped her eyes and replaced her spectacles, switched on the lamps. Well, I’m very lucky, she told herself. What about those who have no neighbour to keep an eye on them and share a cup of tea?
    ‘Hello, my dear – oh,did I wake you? I’m sorry.’
    ‘No, no, I was just lying having a think. Time I pulled myself out of it.’ She followed Pauline back into the kitchen. ‘You are good.’
    The tray was laid, the plate of warm drop scones stood on the stove under a plate.
    ‘I’m not, I’m selfish. I wanted drop scones that badly and you gave me the excuse. I’ll never get that weight off now with Christmas coming up. I gotthe tins for my cake out while I was at it. Do you fancy coming up the market on Saturday while I buy the fruit?’
    Christmas. Iris stared at the embroidered lupins on the tray cloth. Christmas. The word meant nothing. She couldn’t imagine it, didn’t want to try.
    Pauline picked up the tray. ‘Could you bring the pot in?’
    She stood up and the pain like white-hot skewers shot through her knees sothat