Maggie came without question. She’d known he’d bought a boat, that he’d been working on it. These things could not be hidden on the orchard. But she hadn’t spoken to him about it, and Ned, still sore from how little she’d given him in response to his heroism over the mare, had not brought it up with her.

‘Would you like to come out in my boat,’ he’d said. She didn’t say anything; she just wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, took off her gardening gloves and followed him to the waterline.

He’d laid she-oak poles between the shed and the river as runners. She helped him push the boat over them, although the curious lightness of the timber meant the task really only needed one person. Across the sand it ran, into the river. Immediately it drifted away from them, eager to float. Ned caught it with a snatching hand. Maggie swung herself on board. He pushed off and copied her leap, ungainly with the thrill of it.

He scrabbled for the oars. Maggie was already sitting in the bow, craning her head over the side. Ned put the blades into the water, began hurriedly paddling. Realised soon that he didn’t need to. They weren’t going anywhere; they were meandering, testing the boat’s capabilities.

Ned pushed down on the oar handles, raising them into the air. Let himself breathe. Felt the rhythm of the river in his thighs, his stomach. Told himself that it was happening: that all those punctured pelts and bloody mornings had been worth it.

They drifted towards the river’s centre. The wind played with his hair, not as forcefully as he’d dreamed it would, but still it was present: a fresh hand on his face. There was so much fizz in his head he thought he might fall overboard. He nearly let out a wild shout, but was worried that a burst of feeling like that might lead to an undamming of other emotions. He did not want to cry in front of Maggie. Then he noticed that she already was.

She was doing it noiselessly, but the tears on her face were thick, and her face was hazed red. Ned waited for her to stop, but she kept at it, her shoulders jerking. The weight of saying and doing nothing became too great for him.

‘You all right?’

She looked at him, her face wet. ‘Of course I’m all right.’

Ned turned away. Fumbled for words. ‘Is it your friend? The one in the navy?’