It is not long before the men have finished cropping the margins. Jim climbs up into the binder’s seat and plants his boots on the metal footrests stretched before him. He urges the horses on and, with their heads hung low, they draw the machine forward, setting the toothed blade shuddering left to right as the sails begin to turn, reminding Jack of a paddle steamer he had once seen upon the Tyne. Jack and Gwen fall in step behind, deafened by its cacophony, and as the sheaves fall they stand them in stooks of six, clumped across the field.

Ted joins them just before lunch, a .22 rifle slung over his shoulder. Jim halts the horses and leans down from his seat to talk to him.

‘What’s with the gun?’ Jack asks Gwen, as he props a sheaf on their half-formed stook.

She adjusts its position, so the grain-swollen heads catch the breeze.

‘Rabbits. They hide in the crop and as the binder goes through the field, they dart out into the hedgerows for cover. Ted’ll shoot them and give them to Muriel to make a stew, most likely. He’ll help us make stooks now he’s here too and we’ll return the favour when he harvests.’

Jim slaps the reins and the horses traipse forward, shaking their heads against circling flies as the noisy machine clatters back to life. Gwen and Jack finish their stook, then fall in with Ted behind the binder to continue gathering the falling sheaves.

At lunch time, Muriel arrives with a picnic of pies fresh from the oven. They sit beneath an old oak tree, relishing the shade it affords them as they rest against its wrinkled trunk. Gwen pours cold black tea from a flask and when the pies have been polished off, they peel the shells from boiled eggs and sink their teeth into the jellied whites.

Gwen rises, brushing flecks of pastry from her trousers before accompanying her father to fetch water for the horses, now tugging leaves from the hedge. Jack offers to help, but Jim waves him back down, and so he watches father and daughter walk away across the stubble.

Ted swats at the midges flitting around him and suppresses a belch before draining his tea. Jack can feel the burn of his scrutiny, but he ignores him, giving his attention instead to Kip who failed to return to the farm with Muriel. The poor dog is suffering in the heat and pants heavily, even though it is cooler in the shade of the oak. Jack strokes his head.

‘I saw Vic Jennings this morning.’

Ted’s announcement is abrupt, bursting into the awkward silence that has existed since Gwen and Jim’s departure.

‘Is that so?’

‘I bumped into him and his wife coming out of the grocer’s first thing. You remember his wife?’

‘Aye.’

‘They were stocking up, it seems.’

Jack says nothing.