Dorothea insisted on these arrangements for Jimmy after her sister Moana-Rose left home and there was no one to look after him on market days. Though these were still called ‘market days’, they were nothing like the days of Oriwia’s childhood, when Jimmy would sit her and her sister in the dray and they’d set out in the dark of early morning to the market ten miles away. There they would stock up on grain, seeds, groceries, produce, haberdashery and hardware. They were times of fun, talk, little girls petted by everyone in the town.

Now it was just a five-mile journey to the depot in the village to pick up goods she’d booked the week before. What she ordered was only what she had money for, which was becoming less and less as time went by. She could see she was going to end up with an empty shop that was falling down round her, a kitchen full of rotten duck eggs, milk going down the drain, potatoes she couldn’t hope to sell because everyone grew and stored their own. This was the type of produce people gave her in exchange for tobacco, matches, candles and household needs.

These thoughts occupied Oriwia as she delivered Jimmy, had a cup of tea in Dorothea’s kitchen and set out on her way to the depot with her cart empty except for a bucket, a knife wrapped in a cloth, a piece of rope and whatever she was taking to her sister, whom she would visit once she’d collected her goods.

On this particular day, Oriwia arrived at the railway station before the depot opened, so she released the horse from the shafts and tethered it in a shady place where there was grass growing. In the cart she had watermelons, fruit cake in a tin, two large jars of shortbread and a basin of eggs to take to Moana-Rose. As she waited she was greeted by people on foot or on horseback.

Occasionally a vehicle passed by creating dust, and it was coming through this screen, wheezing like a train, that she recognised The Duke, a wayfarer she remembered from when he’d stayed with Dorothea and Taana many years before. Later, he’d married a local widow. However, The Duke remained a wanderer and the marriage didn’t last. He was often in the area and was known to all the people of the town.

Oriwia gave him a wave and he saluted her in a tired fashion. He blew his webby cheeks out and propped himself against the wheel of her cart to remove broken boots and peel off mangy socks. Leaving his footwear on the ground, he turned and leaned into her cart.

‘You selling watermelons Moana-Rose?’ he asked.

‘I’m Oriwia,’ she said. ‘No, not selling, taking them to my sister.’