Jack mumbles his reply. The young woman’s jodhpur-clad legs curve round the horse’s sides and he sees her knee-high riding boots are splattered with dried mud. He backs into the verge, allowing her to pass. The horse’s undulating rear disappears around the bend in the road, but the phantom echo of its hooves lingers.

He steps back into the lane, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards, though he is unable to say why.

The drone of a motor vehicle is faint at first, but as it draws closer, he detects the whine of a flogged engine and the sharp grating of crunched gears. A Bedford delivery van painted cardinal red hurtles around the corner towards him. Jack stumbles back into the blackthorn hedge, its barbs biting through his shirt, as the van races past him at such speed he is buffeted by its downdraught. He shouts in anger as he scrambles to his feet, but it has already disappeared, leaving him to choke on the cloud of purple fumes that trails in its wake.

In the next moment, he hears the screech of brakes.

A horse begins to scream.

Chapter Five

Gwen

8th May 1945

‘We should go to the pub this evening.’

Gwen makes no attempt to respond to Nora’s comment. She sits on the squat milking stool, her shoulders hunched, and gently grasps the cow’s teats. Her hands begin to move rhythmically, up and down; jets of warm milk squirt into the empty pail before her.

‘It’s a momentous day, Gwen …’ Nora perseveres, appearing at the rear of the cow, a half-full pail in her hand. ‘Come on … we can’t miss it. Let’s go to the pub. I bet the whole village will be there.’

Gwen shakes her head. ‘Tom …’

‘Will be fine.’ Nora rests her hand on the cow’s dun-coloured rump. ‘One late night isn’t going to hurt. He’ll remember this day for the rest of his life.’

‘I don’t know …’

‘Even Muriel’s going …’

Gwen closes her eyes. She has no desire to join in the celebrations. She is quite content to remain at the farm with a hot cocoa, listening to the wireless. She wants to avoid her neighbours, not join them. The teats fall dry under her gentle ministrations.

‘You go …’ she says, arching her back to ease the ache in her shoulders.

‘I want you to come with me. You never get out and you’ll regret missing this, I know you will.’ Gwen knows full well she will have no such regrets and Nora clearly sees that conviction housed in her expression, for she hastily adds, ‘Today is history in the making. You owe Tom the opportunity of this experience if nothing else.’