‘Will you be all right?’ Muriel asks, concern edging her voice as she chivvies the exhausted boy off the seat.

‘We’ll be fine,’ Gwen assures her, taking Tom’s hand, but doubt settles in as he rests his full weight against her.

‘Here, I’m heading off myself, I’ll come with you.’ Ted tips back the dregs of his beer.

‘You don’t have to …’

‘No, no I need to be getting back.’

It is dusk as they duck under the lintel. The air has grown chilly and Gwen’s skin protests at its cool caress. She regrets not bringing a coat for Tom at least, but he is too tired to moan about the cold. He drags himself along beside her, his hand loose in hers. The change in air causes Ted to start coughing. He tries to contain it as he roots for his cigarettes. He is still spluttering as he lights one but manages to draw the smoke deep into his lungs. It seems to work. He offers the pack to Gwen, but she shakes her head.

They have not long left the pub garden when Tom begins to whine.

‘Come here, lad, let’s be having you.’ Ted tosses away his cigarette and swings the boy onto his back. Tom links his hands around the farmer’s neck and rests his cheek against his shoulder blade.

‘Are you sure …?’ Gwen asks.

‘Yes, he’s fine.’

‘Well, if he starts to get heavy, I can take him.’

‘Gwen, he’s as light as a feather.’

They walk in silence, easy in each other’s company. Ted begins to pant as he reaches the top of the hill, the village falling away behind them, but he rebuffs Gwen’s renewed offer to take the boy. The wind susurrates through the trees and somewhere to their left a fox bark disturbs the hush, eerie in the dimming light, as threads of pink straddle the violet horizon – promise of a good day to come.

The white render of the farmhouse takes on an ethereal hue in the twilight. The windows stare blankly down on them and Gwen wishes now she had drawn the curtains before they left. As their steps dwindle to a standstill, she reaches for Tom.

‘I’ll carry him up for you,’ Ted offers.

‘Oh no, you’ve carried him far enough,’ Gwen says, guiding the sleeping boy into her arms. His eyelids flicker momentarily, but the realisation he is safely in his mother’s grasp lulls him back into slumber.

‘I don’t mind. I like to help.’

Gwen detects an uncharacteristic gravitas in Ted’s words. She hesitates. ‘I know.’

The breeze pushes a strand of hair across her cheek. She juggles Tom’s weight, freeing up a hand so she can tuck it behind her ear.