He thought a lot about hawks. There were sparrowhawks along the roads and kestrels, and sometimes bigger birds, buzzards, and once he saw what he thought was a harrier off the marshes, identifying it later from a book. He watched them through the binoculars. He saw how still they could be, holding as still sometimes in the sky as on a pole. How quickly they swooped when they saw whatever it was they saw moving on the ground. How ruthless they were.

When Jackson’s men brought the combine out, he swooped down.

Mum, can we go and see?

Yes, if the men’ll have you.

But sometimes still he did not like to see Jackson on the fields. And nothing that Jackson did went on without his seeing, at least when he was home. Once he came home and saw that Jackson had changed the fields. He did not like it when Jackson did such things.

It was in the autumn and the winter that that sort of thing happened, when the fields were bare. It must have been when they came home for one autumn half-term or the Christmas holiday. The first thing that went wrong was that Billy had removed the rope. He found Billy working in the shed. He shouted at Billy. Billy, you shouldn’t have done that. An eleven- or maybe twelve-year-old scolding a man in his sixties; he would be in trouble for that later. Billy said that the rope was rotten, he took it away because it was dangerous. But you can’t do that, Billy. Daddy put it there.

He could climb the tree now anyway because he had grown tall and strong enough to jump up and grab the first branch and swing himself up. And he could get Jonny up first by letting him stand on his shoulders. They could get up without any rope. Jonny had got bigger too, and bolder, so they both climbed up high to where the tree swayed. There was the garden below, empty since Billy was in the shed and his mother was indoors, no one about to see them, though they were so high and though most of the leaves had gone from the tree. The only people to be seen were Jackson’s men, and the fields looked different. Crikey, no, they can’t do that! He held the binoculars to his eyes. What is it? Jonny said. Let me see. But already he had let the binoculars drop on their string and was heading down, swooping, branch to branch, even as Jonny took them up to see for himself.

Wait for me.

Jonny was behind, and slow. He was already down on the ground.

Wait. It’s too high. I can’t get down.

Jonny was scared. He had not climbed so high in the tree before.

Yes you can.