She is at the back door pushing on her gumboots when he returns, the cattle ambling before him, snorting and shitting as they plod towards the pen by the milking parlour. She hurries down the steps to join him, absentmindedly ruffling Kip’s fur as he trots across to greet her. Jack is immediately struck by her pastiness. She catches him up as he closes the five-bar gate on the pen.

‘I’m sorry, Jack.’

‘You look awful.’

She makes no attempt to contradict him, she merely responds with a rueful smile, before heading into the adjacent building. He follows her under the low lintel. She moves slowly, mechanically, collecting her stool and pail, chewing her blanched lips as she buttons up her milking coat.

‘Gwen, if you’re unwell I can manage …’

‘I’m fine. I just … overslept, that’s all.’

‘You look done in.’

‘I’m fine,’ she reiterates, brushing past him to fetch in the first of the herd.

They work in a silence that is broken only by sawing milk, the stomp of an impatient hoof, and the occasional bovine snort.

Jack finishes draining the engorged udder of a cow called Bess. He stands up and slips the halter from her neck, slapping her rump to drive her from the shed. Hooking the pail on the hanging scales, he squints at the flickering needle before recording the figure in the milk ledger. He upends the pail into the cooler, pleased that her yield has increased on the previous day’s. As he sets off down the aisle to bring in the next cow, he passes the stall where Gwen is working. He notices that she is gulping for air.

‘Gwen?’

She leaps to her feet and dashes through the door into the brightening morning. Seconds later, he hears her retching.

He finds her with one hand braced against the wall, while the other rests on her hip as she heaves again. Little more than liquid splatters the bottom bricks.

‘Jesus, Gwen, you should have stayed in bed if you’re sick.’ He places a hand on her back, but she shakes him off.

‘That fish Muriel served last night, I said it smelt funny.’

‘It tasted all right.’

‘It was on the turn. I told her.’

She keeps her face angled away as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘Let me get you some water.’

‘No. I’m fine.’

But the words have only just left her when she whirls back to the wall and spews again.

‘You’re not fine, lass. Go on, get yourself inside, I’ll finish up.’

‘It’ll take you ages.’

‘I’ll manage. Get away with you now.’

She considers protesting, but seeing reason, she nods. ‘I’ll just clear this up.’

‘I’ll do it,’ he says gently. ‘Go on now. Get some rest.’

Biting her lip, she takes a few steps towards the house, then stops.

‘Thank you, Jack.’