‘Did you honestly think that I – having looked after you most of your life – wouldn’t notice? Thickening waist, growing bust, green in the morning. Oh, he’s tried to cover for you, I know,’ her spindly finger flies out in Jack’s direction, ‘and your dad’s been too daft to question any of it, but I wasn’t born yesterday, missy. So now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go and have a word with your father and make it plain why he will not make you wait. When I’ve done with him, he’ll make sure you’re up that aisle the minute the banns have been read.’

Gwen tries to stop her, her pleas breaking like smashed china, but Muriel throws her off and storms through the door. With a cry, she dashes to the window to observe the scene unfolding beyond the glass. Jack lays a tentative hand on her back, but she tenses at his touch and so it drops to his side once more.

Muriel strides up the path with purpose, knocking Kip out of her way as the dog prances about her feet. Jim is up the ladder, picking apples into the canvas bag slung around his neck. Alert to Muriel’s approach, he slowly descends until they are standing toe to toe in the shade of the tree. Muriel bats away a wasp, but it is clear it does not distract her from her purpose.

In the kitchen, Gwen and Jack are unable to hear what is said, but they see Jim’s chin drop and his shoulders slump. His slackening stance conveys far more than mere words. Unable to bear the sight of his broken heart, Gwen turns away. Brushing past Jack, she stands by the range, absorbed in thought. Jack pushes his hands into his pockets and stares at the runnels in the wooden drainer.

Muriel returns alone. Jack looks through the window, but there is no sign of Jim: he is no longer humming a melody while picking apples in the afternoon sun.

‘It’s done.’ The housekeeper dusts off her hands, as if glad to be rid of the tawdry business. ‘Your father is going to go and see the vicar this evening. He’ll get the first reading of the banns this Sunday.’ She glares at Jack. ‘I know you’re not one for church, but you’ll be there, do you understand me?’

He mumbles his assent. Gwen runs from the room. They hear the rapid thud of her feet on the stair treads and the slam of her door. The fight leaves Muriel. Her gnarled fingers grip the dresser edge.