Gwen wishes her housekeeper, confidante and friend goodnight, then heads upstairs, careful to keep her tread light as Tom is already in bed. It is late, and she hopes he has drifted off of his own accord, but as she inches his door ajar he squirms from under the bed covers and sits up to greet her.

‘You should have been asleep ages ago,’ she says, urging him to lie back down. The glow from the lamp on his bedside table catches his face. She sits down beside him.

‘I want Daddy to read me another chapter of my book.’

‘All right, but he’s got to get washed-up first; threshing is very mucky work. He’ll be up in a little while.’

‘I’m staying awake for him,’ he says, breaking into a yawn before the sentence is complete.

Gwen brushes the hair from his forehead. ‘He won’t be long.’

‘Mummy … the man today … Mr Allingham. I didn’t really want to have a ride on his bike, but he said I ought to and that you wouldn’t mind.’

Gwen grits her teeth. She cups Tom’s warm cheek. ‘I don’t want you talking to that man ever again, Tom, do you understand?’

‘But if he speaks to me and I don’t say anything back, won’t that be rude?’

‘Not in this instance, Tom. Not with him. You stay away from him and if he ever tries to talk to you again you come and tell me … or Daddy,’ she adds, the unfamiliar word strangely comforting on her lips.

Tom yawns again, his eyelids drooping. ‘How long will Daddy be?’

‘Let me go and see.’ She leans forward, pressing her lips to his cheek, close to his graze. ‘I’ll go and hurry him up, shall I?’

Jack emerges from the pantry just as she reaches the kitchen. His wet hair glistens in the lamplight.

‘Tom’s waiting …’

‘Right,’ he starts to tuck his shirt into the waistband of his trousers, ‘I’ll just empty the tub …’

‘Don’t worry about that … do it after, I don’t think he’ll last much longer.’

‘Aye … all right.’ They share a smile. ‘Right …’ he says softly.

Gwen gathers herself with a surprised ‘Oh!’ and steps from the door to make way, catching a drift of lye soap as he passes her. The staircase creaks under his weight. She slips into the hall and when she hears his muted greeting to Tom, tender and teasing, her hand finds its way to the newel post. She knows the stairs intimately – knows which treads are looser than others, where to place her weight to conceal her presence. She makes a slow and stealthy ascent, and when she reaches the top step she swivels round and sits, her ear cocked to the open door.