He gives her a wave, and Naylor does the same. As she sees him drive away, there’s something in her heart which might be disappointment.

Evan is outside in the barn, sitting high up on the straw bales, from where the view’s down the farm track to the stream. He likes it there: the clean, country smell of it, the prickle of the dry corn stalks on the back of his legs, the tickle of the breeze blowing through the door. In the garden, he can see his dad dead-heading roses, cutting clumsily at the bushes, not taking dainty care like Grandma. Grandma’s sitting in a director’s chair keeping an eye on Dad, but she’s not saying anything, which Evan thinks must be hard. Though he can’t see it, he can hear a bird calling overhead, a harsh cry Grandpa’s told him is a bird of prey, a red kite. And having a sudden wish to see it, Evan climbs down from his eyrie, and wanders out from the barn’s shadows, into the sunshine on the home field.

‘You’ve got sheep-muck on your shoes,’ says Jack, as Evan enters the kitchen a while later. ‘Don’t be traipsing it through the house. Take them off on the mat, or your grandma’ll be having a fit and blaming me. Haven’t you brought your wellies?’

Evan looks at him, but doesn’t speak.

‘I don’t see how you can be on the farm without proper footwear,’ says Jack. ‘Your dad’s having a run to the shops in a while for a few bits and bobs. Shall we ask him to pop into Hooper’s and see what they’ve got that might fit you?’

Evan shrugs, but his expression is on the pleased side of neutral.

‘What size do you think you are?’ Jack makes a performance of studying Evan’s feet. ‘An eight or nine, I’d say. We’ll ask him to get nines, then you’ve something to grow into. Now go and use the outside tap, and get those shoes cleaned up.’

Dora appears to be dozing, but she’s not asleep, she’s listening to the bees amongst the roses. She knows someone’s approaching from the rattle of a cup on its saucer and the light chink of a teaspoon on china.

Matt touches her shoulder very lightly, and she opens her eyes.

‘Mum? I brought you a cup of tea.’

She smiles.

‘That’s very nice, dear. Come and sit down.’

Matt puts the tea down on the cast-iron table, and fetches another canvas chair from the shed where Dora keeps her gardening clutter, rakes, hoes, trowels and shears.

As he sits he says, ‘I should have brought you a biscuit. I bought Jaffa Cakes. Evan likes those.’

‘Me too,’ says Dora, ‘but I don’t want one just now.’