They stood so still that sounds were loud, the birds, big black birds, cawing above them, then the sound of the Land Rover somewhere in the fields. Jonathan turned to find a way out of the trees. As if he had said nothing. As if nothing of importance had been said. And she had said nothing in response. And then when they came out into the sunshine, there was Richard driving along the track. He stopped and waved them over. Richard, looking so physical and sure, the sun on him, on his hair and his tanned arms with their rolled-up sleeves. He reached across to open the door. She got in while Jonathan let the spaniel jump up into the back. All so normal except she thought that they should have walked on, the two of them. It would have been better if they had walked.

He looked out of the open window as Richard drove, the track ahead, the spinney receding. The wide sky. Wide land. When he spoke his voice was flat, commonplace.

That old oak’s still there.

It’s lost a few branches these last years.

There’s a grave underneath it.

Rosie’s grave. Billy’s dog, remember?

Yes, I remember Rosie.

Their words were hollow of meaning as if they needed translation.

I hadn’t been there in years.

I go and shoot there sometimes. It’s always been a good spot for pigeons. Dad used to go there, remember?

Yes I remember that too.

She sat in the centre seat of the Land Rover crushed between them, her knees to Jonathan’s knees, Richard’s hand against her knees as he reached to the gear stick.

There’s a big rookery there now.

What was a rookery? She didn’t know. They spoke across her as if she was not there.

It was so big, the sky. Empty. He felt the huge emptiness weighing on them as if the longer they remained the less they would move, like Richard and his mother, held here on the flat. That was how it had always been. And now here was Kumiko beside him, and he could only make empty talk.

Later, when they were alone again, Jonathan said they had stayed at the farm long enough.

Let’s go away somewhere, he said.

Where, she said, Paris?

He was thinking of the Lake District.

That’s still England.

It’s a different kind of England. And I always promised I’d take you there.

Because I read Wordsworth in my English lessons at school.

For other reasons too. Because it’s wild and romantic. Because I don’t have enough money for Paris until I’m paid for harvest. And when it rains in the Lakes it really rains.