‘You farmed before?’

‘No, it’s all new to me.’

‘Ah, he’s taking to it like a duck to water,’ Jim crows from behind them, using the opportunity to fish his Woodbines from his jacket pocket. He offers the packet to his neighbour, who gladly pulls one free, but Jack, when offered, shakes his head.

‘And how are you, Gwen?’ Ted turns to address her, patting his pockets to elicit the tell-tale rattle of a matchbox.

‘I’m well, thank you.’

‘She’s off to the Summer Ball at Netley Hall on Saturday,’ Jim says, lighting up.

Ted locates his packet of Bryant and May, but this revelation gives him pause. ‘Saturday?’ He retracts his darted look from Jim and turns to Gwen. ‘This Saturday?’ he checks softly.

Jack notices how Gwen’s smile falters. ‘Jack’s going to keep Dad company, aren’t you, Jack?’ There is a stark desperation in the look she gives him.

‘Aye.’ He senses a contract between them, though he is not privy to its detail. He frowns, but Gwen’s apparent concern seems alleviated by their pact.

‘I thought I might go down to the Hare and Hounds,’ Jim pipes up. He draws deeply on his cigarette, holding onto the smoke as he removes the fag with dirt-blackened fingers. ‘What do you say, Ted? Fancy joining me for a pint?’

‘You said you would stay in.’ There is a note of horror in Gwen’s blurted interjection. ‘You said you’d stay in with Jack.’

‘I don’t see why we should stay in when you’re out having all the fun …’

‘Dad …’

‘Oh Gwen, can’t a man go out for a jar every now and then? And if Jack wants to come, he’s more than welcome. What do you say – Ted? Jack?’

For an awful moment, Gwen appears on the verge of tears, but her features harden as she looks between the two men. Ted picks a fleck of tobacco from his bottom lip.

‘Ah,’ he says at last, shifting his stance. ‘I don’t see why not. Been a while since I was down the Hare and Hounds.’

Gwen opens her mouth to speak, then appears to rein herself in, but her tightly pressed lips still manage to convey her resentful fury.

‘What about it, Jack? Will you join us old boys for a beer?’

‘Not so much of the old, Jim,’ Ted chuckles.

‘You’re a whippersnapper compared to me, it’s true,’ the farmer laughs, resting on the plough, smoke spiralling skyward from the cigarette caught between his fingers. ‘Well, Jack?’

Jack does not want to go to the pub. He wants to stay hidden at the house, out of sight. Safe. But Gwen casts him such a look of naked appeal he knows he has no choice.

‘Aye …’ His voice catches in his throat. ‘Aye, I’ll join you for a pint, why not.’