‘No, she never stays out this late. What time did she set off? She could be halfway to Helvedon and back by now. No, no … something’s happened, I’m sure of it. That bloody horse, I should have sent it to the knacker’s yard long before now …’ Jim heads for the door. ‘I’m going looking for her – I’ll take the car, drive around.’

‘She could be anywhere, Jim,’ Jack reasons, fearing what Jim might stumble on if Gwen is indeed with Gordon. ‘I’ll come too. I’ll take the push bike and head up the track, see if I can spot her up there.’

But as they are bundling into their jackets, they hear the snort of a horse, and the slow clop of hooves. Jim’s relief is evident as he yanks open the back door in time to catch sight of Gwen riding up the yard. It is her slumped shoulders that Jack notices first and, edging past Jim, he says he will help her untack.

He hurries to the stable block, half-walking, half-jogging. Gwen swings down from the saddle just as Jack arrives.

Her red-mottled face tells him everything he needs to know.

‘Oh, lass …’

She merely shakes her head in response and leads the horse through the open door into its waiting loosebox. Jack follows her in, closing the gate behind him. He does not attempt to question her, instead his fingers work the buckle on the horse’s chinstrap as she runs up the stirrups. Jack gathers up the reins and relieves Arthur of his bridle, as Gwen slides the saddle from his back. The horse moves forward to snatch hay from the iron basket on the wall, its grinding teeth the only sound that disturbs the silence. For a moment, Jack and Gwen look at each other across the horse’s curved rump, their hands full of leather. Gwen lowers her gaze first and pushes open the gate with her hip. She rests the saddle on the wooden divide of the next loosebox, while Jack hangs the bridle on the nail jutting from its post.

‘Your dad was getting worried. You were gone a long time.’

Her head drops. She nods and looks away. ‘Yes.’

‘Did you speak to him?’ Jack asks, his voice gentle.

‘It seems … I’ve been a fool.’ She raises her face to him just as a tear trickles down the length of her cheek. She strikes it away with a determined swipe of her hand. Her lips form a mournful twist. ‘Dad was right all along. I could never be … a serious contender, as Gordon put it.’

Jack swears under his breath.

‘He thought I knew it was just a bit of fun. Except, of course, it wasn’t … not for me at least.’

A breath shudders from her, but no more tears. She has exhausted her supply it seems.

‘Gwen, I …’