Mary took Ian out of the pram and set him on his little legs while she picked sweet peas with Finetta. Fagus was propped on a bench in the sunshine; Enid sat at the kitchen table, the back door to the garden was open; Everett cooked lunch: ham hock, late summer salad and potatoes. From the garage came the clang of Douglas and Gould tinkering with an engine.

Ian grabbed the bean canes and bent them towards himself. “Watch him with those sharp points,” called Enid to Mary.

With her great iron bulk – like a steamer, Enid thought, watching her move across the kitchen; the vessel that kept them afloat – Everett swept from cold store to stove and blocked Enid’s view. Enid moved to the other end of the table.

Everett dropped a pat of butter on a board, divided it and dipped the knife in cold water. The kitchen was a happy clutter of washed tiles and saucepans hanging, the broad wooden table was crowded with bowls of suet, string and dishcloths. The air smelled salty and sweet.

Fagus kicked his legs and held his face up to the sky as if he was a dog, sniffing the air. “Is Fagus cold?” She thought she’d seen him shiver. His hands were stuffed together between his knees.

Ian pulled the canes again; they bent towards him, rucking the soil. Mary had her back to him, chattering with Finetta. Everett spilled flour on the work surface and clapped her hands causing a cloud that puffed then fell. Ian let go, the canes sprang back and he dropped onto his bottom.

“I’ll get to him in a minute,” said Everett, as she kneaded dough.

“I could get him a shawl.” Perhaps she’d imagined it. Fagus was leaning back with his eyes closed, sunshine on his face. He was so big now. She’d forgotten somehow that he’d grow. She had tea with him most days.

Ian stood up, grabbed the canes again and yanked them clean out of the earth. His prize suddenly in his hands, the sharp tips waving in the air, he ran three steps away from Mary, holding up his arms up as if was a javelin thrower or a savage, spear aloft.

“Mary!” By the time her voice reached the nanny’s ears, Ian had reached the edge of the plot. The cane stuck suddenly in the rabbit wire, ran through his hands and scraped along his cheek. He hit the fence head first and fell over.