‘Know me again?’ he asked. He pulled a face. ‘That’s not fair; the driver has to keep his eyes on the road no matter how much he’d rather take a good look at his passenger.’

Tess laughed. ‘Well, judging by the speed you’re doing we’ll be back at Bell Farm in no time, and then you can stare at me all you like. Only I don’t believe I’ve changed at all.’

Jonty slowed the car as they approached a sugar beet lorry, then indicated and pulled out, speeding up again. As he pulled in front of the lorry, Tess chuckled. ‘Oh, Jonty, doesn’t it remind you of days gone by? When your dad was driving, for instance, we would have stayed behind that lorry in the hope that it would lose a couple of beet as it turned off to head for the Cantley factory, because every pig born adores sugar beet. But now we’re responsible citizens, I reckon, and wouldn’t dream of nicking a spilt beet when the driver hasn’t netted his load.’

Jonty laughed. ‘You devil, Tess! You saw me looking in the rear-view mirror as we passed the turning. But the driver took it slow, so I guess if you want to give the pigs a treat you’ll have to pick up windfalls in the orchard; they’re mortal fond of Beauty of Bath, which are the earliest variety we grow. Now, what do you want to do for the next few weeks?’

‘Two weeks, you mean,’ Tess said quickly. ‘I did tell you I’d have to go back after two weeks. I’m sure I told you in one of my letters that as soon as Miss Foulks told the landlord she was retiring and giving up the shop, he decided it would be far easier to let as one unit, shop and flat together. He’s given us a month to find new accommodation, but it’s going to be hard because rents are continually going up and decent housing is hard to find within our price range. If we could live on the Wirral, or even in the suburbs, it might be easier, but as it is I need to be near my school and Gran has to be close to the bakery . . .’

‘Hey, what’s wrong with public transport? It’s what folk in the country have to use all the time, unless they’re lucky enough to own a car,’ Jonty pointed out. ‘Why shouldn’t you live in the country and catch a bus every morning? It’s what us ordinary people have to do!’

‘Oh, ha ha, very funny,’ Tess said. ‘Three days a week, and sometimes four, Gran bakes bread; her shifts start at two in the morning, and believe me, there are very few buses or trams running through the night. I admit it would be all right for me – living further away, I mean – but it wouldn’t do for Gran. Once or twice, when I’ve seen how tired she is after a night shift, I’ve suggested that she ask her boss to let her do days only, but she gets paid double time, possibly more, for night work so it just isn’t on.’