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In the event things were not so bad as she had feared. They found Lulu, muddy and grazed, soaked through and without her beret, sitting on a roadside bank surrounded by a comforting group of farm workers and their bicycles. She was holding court and showed no particular pleasure in Vera’s fervent embrace or Nanny’s insistence that she travel home in the front, on her knee. In fact, she said she wanted to go on to the dentist so that they could have tea at Fuller’s in Union Street afterwards. For a moment Janet was roused from her sombre apprehensions by this redeeming notion. Fuller’s was the good thing about trips to the dentist. With faces frozen by the sleety wind and the jaw-scrunching needle they would step from the granite street and the granite sky into a warm lamplit haven. The carpets were pink and dense so that you moved soundlessly; there were no windows; you could forget the outer world. Teaspoons clinked on porcelain saucers, tiered stands shone, laden with the snowy glory of Fuller’s walnut cake. Reverently the waitress raised the silver dome from a fragrant mound of buttered toast, flaccid and dribbling with amber rivulets. “Jerusalem the golden, with milk and honey blest,” thought Janet. And, like that heavenly vision, unattainable. For the numb jaw and tongue, the rubbery lip, flawed and mortal, could not cope. But it was enough to sit in that rosy hush and feel its benediction, watch the hard faces of the women in their hats grow gentle and animated. Fox tippets were discarded, carelessly slung on chair backs so that their glassy eyes and snappy jaws were invisible. There was twinkling, there were indiscreet confidences and girlish laughter. Extravagant quantities of tea were drunk, lavish tips lurked coyly beneath emptied salvers. Men did not come here. Once Vera had lured Hector in on the grounds that it was his duty to help her cope with five children. As they emerged from the Ladies’ Room they saw Hector staring moodily at a light fitting while baby Caro, beside him in a high-chair, poured scalding tea in an unsteady stream onto the pink carpet. Later he had removed the largest chip from Rhona’s plate and placed it on his shoulder; then he waited through the rest of the sacred hour for someone to ask him why he had a chip on his shoulder. No one tried to get him into Fuller’s again.

But today it was back to Auchnasaugh in the deepening murk. The appointment would have to be rearranged, the car must be swilled out before Hector saw it. If they were quick they might catch Jim, the hunchbacked gardener, before he went home. Jim would not mind; after all he spent most of his life involved in blood, guts, dung, and effluvia. Janet could run in the back way and see if he was in the kitchen having his tea; she would have to explain the situation; it was her fault anyhow.

To Janet’s relief Miss Wales was not in the kitchen but to her chagrin Jim was. He was huddled over the little side table gazing intently at a magazine. In one hand he held his jammy piece; the other hand was scratching his stomach. When Janet spoke he gave an almighty start and shoved the magazine behind the teapot. “Ech,” he observed, shambling to his feet, buttoning his clothes. “Ech.” He spat in the sink and went out into the darkness, leaving behind a gamey whiff of sweat and dried blood and stale tobacco. Janet tiptoed over to the teapot and extracted the magazine. She was horrified; it was full of disgusting pictures of women with no clothes on. To think anyone could want to look at things like that. She was overwhelmed with shame. She lifted up the Aga lid and stuffed it into the glowing depths, prodding and pushing with the poker until at last the pages caught, blazed up, turned to grey powder. She fled from the kitchen.