She is so close their arms brush. He is relieved that the sack is too heavy for her to tarry for long, but it is long enough for her to convey all she wants. Her eyes trail over him as she moves away, leaving a hint of musky scent suspended in her wake.

Jack stands on the field margin watching Gwen bring the tractor round, the seed drill jouncing behind her with Nora positioned on its running board. Tom waits beside him, taut with discomfort, his screwed-up features betraying bemusement at Jack’s admiration. Jack grins.

‘I’ve never seen your mam drive a tractor before.’

‘She drives it every day.’

‘Not when I was here. It was Bobby and Brenda.’

‘Who’s Brenda?’

Jack looks at him, startled. ‘You don’t have Brenda the horse now either?’

The little boy offers him a cautious smile. ‘No.’

‘Aye, a lot’s changed since I was here last,’ Jack muses. The boy fidgets beside him, disinterested in his observations and resentful of being forced into his company. ‘Are you bored, Tom?’ He knows the question is unfair. The boy’s expression is so solemn the corner of Jack’s lip creeps into his cheek.

Squatting down, he works to hide his disappointment as the boy steps back. He remembers Muriel’s words – They need time. ‘What do you say we go into the copse and make a shelter? Much more fun than standing here watching your mam – as impressive as her tractor skills are, like.’ He looks over his shoulder towards the fume-belching Fordson then bounces back up to standing and holds out his hand. ‘Come on, let’s go and have an adventure.’

The boy doesn’t move but continues to study him steadily, cautiously, and Jack’s heart grows heavy as the seconds tick by. He is expecting too much, pushing too hard, he thinks, and he is about to allow the suggestion to fall when tentative fingers slip into his. His smile erupts. He holds the boy’s wary gaze, then tips his head towards the trees.

Gwen eases her foot down on the Fordson’s throttle, her brow furrowed with concentration as she makes minute changes to the steering to keep her straight line. Movement plays in the corner of her eye. Jack is lifting Tom over the tangle of briars and bracken that separate the top margin from the beech copse beyond. The boy grins broadly as Jack flies him through the air. From the shake of his shoulders, she can tell he is laughing.