Ollie is watching Jeanie, apparently transfixed. He sees Lottie looking at him and smiles, guardedly, and then looks back to the bar, to Jeanie and the Muslim guy. He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath. Now he is appraising the Muslim guy. Subtly – or so he thinks: he is slightly drunk (and is drinking quickly). But he is aware of Lottie watching him, glances back at her every so often, his eyes drifting across her face in something a little more than acknowledgement (yes, definitely drunk). And now he turns to her, he can’t stand it any more, her looking at him. She watches his face, the planes of it. The contrasts. A few scratches still. The red mark on his forehead. He sees her looking at it and his hand moves to touch it. Healing up nicely, she says.

‌Lammas

The land shall not be sold for ever: for the land is mine

It wanted an hour of noon when we sallied forth down Marsh Lane. I carried a bunch of flowers as big as an ox’s head, a companion furnished in like manner on either side. Taking up fallen twigs, willow wands, reeds and marsh horsetails, or our own walking aids, we perambulated the field, swishing at the long grass and Michaelmas daisies. Boys and women trudged along with picnic baskets and bushels of buns.

As we reached the first oak and tapped it with our sticks, I raised my flowers aloft. Now, this is not merely in fun that we do this, I shouted. When Comrade Barker and I are dead—

Which will be sooner than you think, said Ambrose, pointing his stick at the crowd. So prepare yourselves to step forward and take our places.

Thank you, Ambrose – you will know where the boundaries lie and if they are encroached upon. And you must do this too, and pass on the knowledge. Don’t wait till they’re grown up. They won’t listen – will you, Kitty Edith? (That’s my daughter there – a married woman now.) Take them round while they’re small, like this one here, yes my dear, come forward. Like this one here. Would you like a posy? Aren’t they pretty? Let’s make you one from these daisies. This is your land, my dear. It belongs to you. And let no one ever tell you otherwise.

*

A crowbar had been produced. A heavy sledgehammer had been produced. There was a saw. Poker, tongs, pickaxe – people had brought all manner of things to take up the rails.

Where’d you get that?

I’m a blacksmith.