Betty is almost crying by now, and even though George was not the one ranting, they are both out of breath. The spring air is cool, but anger and indignation have made them puff steam at one another, like two bulls about to charge. Their eyes flash with accusations and denials. George wants to break something over her head. In the end he settles for snatching her knitting and unravelling it in long handfuls. ‘You can’t knit for shit. Fucking poxy ugly shite I’ll never wear.’

‘Give it back. It wasn’t for you.’

‘What?’

George is still tugging at the wool, enjoying the way all her hard work is coming undone in his hands. He stamps on the strands as they hit the ground, covering them with clots of mud from his boots.

‘That jumper wasn’t for you.’ Betty’s voice is calmer now.

‘Well, which poor unsuspecting fucker was it for, then?’

‘It was for Don at the church. His wife died last month, and she always knitted him a jumper for the spring. Nothing too heavy. I had to go into town on the bus to get that wool from a special shop.’

George tugs so hard that the last bit of wool snaps. He stumbles backwards on the uneven mud, almost losing his footing.

‘Fuck!’ He bends and grabs at the crinkly mass on the ground, but it’s all just a knot now and the jumper wasn’t for him anyway. It was for Don, another sad bastard with no wife who Betty has taken in to look after, like a stray dog.

Does she go to Don’s house and cook for him? Do they sit together and eat cake? Does she do his ironing – and why the fuck does George care? Betty will only ever be a home help to him. If she wants to go and clean for the whole fucking village, what does it matter to him? He doesn’t envy Don, or any other unfortunate sod she’s knitting for. He doesn’t want her for himself: he doesn’t want her at all.

Except that Betty fills in the quiet spaces. She’s noisy and loud and she annoys George. She’s so annoying he feels ten years younger. She fills him with insults and sarcasm, and it pumps like oxygenated blood through his veins. He digs better when she’s watching. She can take the shit that no one else will tolerate. Even now, after all the things he’s said and what he’s done to Don’s jumper, she’ll forgive him. For some reason, Betty needs this too.