‘It’s all right, Edie. Our coach ran off the road and you got the worst of it. If only I’d insisted on having the window seat! Sometimes it don’t do to be a gentleman, because it was you who found yourself crushed by the weight of the coach. The doctor’s given you an injection and he says you’ll sleep for hours, and when you wake up I’ll explain more, but now all you have to do is go to sleep, because sleep’s the best medicine, they say.’ Edie’s hand had lain motionless in Albert’s, but at his words she put every ounce of her strength into giving his fingers a tiny squeeze, and then, almost thankfully, she sank into the feathery darkness.

‘Hey up, someone’s coming up the lane. Oh, it’s the telegraph boy . . . he’s coming here!’

Jonty and Tess had just left the milking parlour, each carrying a brimming galvanised bucket. A couple of days ago they had taken themselves off to Mundesley and Tess, with many squeals, had allowed Jonty to teach her to do the front crawl, and then to swim on her back, two skills which had eluded her until then. It had been a happy day, and just now they had been discussing what they should do the following day, for that too was to be a holiday. Jonty wanted to visit the Nicholas Everett Park, for he had a friend who sailed on Oulton Broad and had offered to lend Jonty his yacht for the day. The yacht, the Merry Dancer, was moored at the park and Jonty, who usually crewed for his friend, was looking forward to showing Tess all the delights of the Broad. In fact they had been discussing whether to take a picnic or to go to Waller’s Fish Restaurant when they emerged from the milking parlour to see the telegraph boy turning into their yard.

Tess’s hand flew to her heart, then she gave herself a shake. ‘It’s daft, I know, but ever since the war even the sight of a telegraph boy in the street gives me the shivers. Only I expect it’ll be for one of the hands, or for your father and mother, not for me.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ Jonty said, but Tess thought he looked uneasy. ‘Still, work must go on! Let’s get this milk to the cooler, and then we’ll go in and see.’

The back door opened, and Mrs Bell exchanged a few words with the telegraph boy before beckoning to Tess. ‘That’s for you, Tess,’ she called. ‘Best stand the milk down and come and read it. The feller say it’s reply paid.’

Tess began to lower her bucket to the ground, but Jonty seized it and jerked his head at the kitchen door. ‘Don’t worry about the milk; I’ll deal with that,’ he said. ‘Just you read your telegram, and if it’s from your gran wanting you to go home early . . .’

But Tess was already taking the envelope from the boy. She opened it and swiftly scanned the contents, and felt the blood drain from her face. She turned wide eyes up to Mrs Bell. ‘There’s been an accident. Gran was on a coach trip with Mr Payne and he’s telegraphed to say the coach went off the road and Gran’s in hospital.’ She had barely finished speaking before Jonty was at her side, gently taking the telegram from her.