Her reluctance is evident, but in the end she relents. A single tear spills down her cheek as she tries to manoeuvre herself round, but she quickly wipes it away and Jack passes no comment. She takes his offered arm and begins to hop beside him, but it is soon evident he is providing insufficient support.

‘Here, let me …’ he hesitates, conscious of not offending or frightening her in any way. ‘Three-legged race, like,’ his lips quirk, ‘you can lean on me properly then. You need to avoid putting pressure on that foot.’

She cautiously considers his proposal. ‘All right,’ she concedes at last. ‘Yes, thank you.’ He feels her tense as he slips his arm behind her waist, but a moment later she rests her arm across his shoulders.

‘I live just ten minutes or so …’ she gestures vaguely in the direction he had been going before the van appeared.

‘Right. You ready?’

They move awkwardly at first. She grits her teeth and tries not to rely on him, but as her lips twitch with pain her reticence begins to slip until finally, through necessity, she loads him with her weight. They proceed more easily then, a synchronicity to their movements, and suddenly Jack is transported back to the Gateshead Fair and Jenny, doubled over, binding their ankles while he protests, giggling wildly as he tries to down his lukewarm beer before the race begins. Unexpected emotion clogs his throat. He lifts his face into the breeze and it stings his eyes. He pushes all thoughts of Jenny away and his molten heart becomes steel once again.

‘This is very kind of you,’ she manages after a while.

‘Nee bother, miss.’

‘Gwen.’ She glances his way. ‘My name is Gwen.’

‘Jack.’

‘Not from round here, Jack?’

A smile darts across his face, but quickly fades. ‘Nee, lass.’

He fears she is about to ask him more, but as the road dips away from them, she lets out a cry of relief.

‘There, there it is! Not far now.’

Just before them, set back from the lane, is a white rendered farmhouse, a yard to its side bordered by buildings, with fenced meadows beyond that back onto woodland.

By the time they reach the gateway, he is practically carrying her. She whimpers with every step.

A dog appears from the open-fronted building on the left, prick-eared and sharp-eyed. It races towards them, head low, its tail beating from side to side.

‘All right, Kip,’ Gwen mutters as it begins to dance around them, barking.

A man emerges from the same building, rubbing his oil-slickened hands on a piece of rag. His face flares with concern.

‘Gwen?’ He tosses the rag to one side.

Jack notices Gwen’s breathing has become shallow. With inordinate effort, she steps clear of his grasp to address the man now running towards them.

‘I got thrown, Dad,’ she murmurs. Her lips turn the colour of chalk.

Jack catches her as she falls.

Chapter Seven

Jack