Mr Lawrence, who was much quieter than his wife and had so far hardly said a word, suddenly asked Alison if she liked pigeons, and the rest of the family shouted him down, but Alison said, ‘Homing pigeons?’ and he said, ‘Aye, I’ve some beauties in my loft, I can show you if you want?’ So Alison said she’d love to see them, and Mr Lawrence took her out the back door into the yard, Daniel following to make sure she was all right, and that his dad didn’t mistake politeness for avid interest.

But the birds were beautiful. Their loft was a converted shed where the pigeons – six of them – sat glossy and plump like little Prince Regents, gazing at Alison from their boxes, with eyes as dark as currants. Mr Lawrence fetched out a bird, cupped closely in two hands. Its feathers were the softest grey, with a glamorous shimmering band of mauve and emerald green at its neck.

‘This one’s a champ,’ he said. ‘Clover.’

‘Clover?’ Alison said.

‘Yep,’ said Daniel, from the door. ‘Great name – for a cow.’

Mr Lawrence ignored him. ‘Aye, Clover. She’s a beauty, a pure Janssen, bred her myself from a cock and a hen I bought in Elsecar. Feller who owned ’em were winning everything, then he dropped dead and his wife had a clearance sale.’ He was talking to the bird as much as to Alison, and the pigeon seemed to be listening closely, watching his face with her steady black eyes. ‘She didn’t know what she were selling, did she? Underpriced every bird.’ He offered her to Alison, but she shook her head; she was wary of that beak, those clawed feet.

‘I might drop her,’ she said. ‘You keep hold.’ She looked round at Daniel, who was leaning on the frame of the open doorway with his arms folded. He didn’t speak, but raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say, ‘Had enough yet?’

Alison turned away. ‘What if she flies out?’ she said, pointing at the open door, the evening sky, and Mr Lawrence laughed.

‘She’ll not leave my side, this ’un, unless she’s racing, then all she does is sprint back, fast as an arrow.’

‘Aren’t you worried, y’know, that she won’t find you?’

‘Never, she’s a champ.’

‘You said that already, Dad,’ Daniel said, from the door.

‘She flew six hundred miles from Lerwick once,’ Mr Lawrence said, ignoring his son. ‘See her coming in, tail fanned, wings back, it’s like nowt else, nowt else. She’s a champ.’

Daniel tutted, and Alison said, ‘Clever girl,’ to the pigeon, then smiled at Daniel’s dad, who looked pleased as punch. ‘Thanks for showing me,’ she said.

‘Nay, lass, any time,’ he said, and Alison and Daniel left him in the loft, where he was settling Clover back in her box, talking to her all the while.