He is aware then of the boy. He has crept forward, stealthy and unsure, like a curious kit exploring beyond the safety of the burrow. He peers out from behind his mother’s legs, his expression wary. Jack meets his solemn eyes and is overcome by the realisation that this is the child, the child it was all for – the façade of their marriage, the promise made and now broken. This child drew them together and forced them apart. And yet he has an overwhelming sense of this being his child, and suddenly a sob chokes him. He covers it with a cough and hopes that Gwen remains oblivious to the rush of love that has caught him unawares. Of all things, it is his reaction to the boy that is the most unanticipated.

He crouches down, fearful his knees might give way, for he is trembling as if possessed by a fever. He looks at the boy with wonder, studying his every feature – the curve of his brow, the sweep of his mouth, the line of his button nose. He has been absorbing the same features in miniature every night for the past five years, tracing their black-and-white outlines. And now he sees them in the flesh: the boy a little bigger, the features more defined.

‘And you must be Tom.’

His voice gives way on the boy’s name. He tries to smile, but the swell of his emotion is so great it fails to become the bold expression he intended – though it is charged with joy all the same. The boy nods, before ducking behind his mother’s legs. Jack thinks his heart might burst.

‘Don’t be shy, Tom, say hello to your daddy! He’s back at last – back from the war. What a lucky boy you are to have your daddy home.’

It is the Land Girl who speaks. Previously, she has been little more than a sketch in Gwen’s occasional letters, but now she sidles forward in full embodiment, a scythe in her hand, her face alive with devilment.

‘I think you’ve stunned them both into silence,’ she laughs. Gwen shoots her an annoyed look, but the girl is unrepentant; she merely leans on her scythe and settles in to enjoy the show.

Jack pushes himself up to standing. He had not factored in the presence of a stranger. There is a confidence to the Land Girl that unnerves him and he wishes she was not there. He had never wanted his first meeting with Gwen to be a spectacle, but she is turning it into one and he resents her for it. The words he has practised are lost in the stage fright of an actor facing an audience for the first time.

‘This is Nora … my Land Girl,’ Gwen says, as if sensing – and perhaps sharing – his disquiet.

‘So I gathered,’ he says, before mumbling a greeting.