On the in-bye land by the farmhouse, they herded the ewes into pens and then caught them one by one, pulling them on to their backs and holding them still between their legs while they dug compacted mud from their hooves and trimmed the ends with hoof cutters. It was a docile flock, but no sheep especially enjoyed having its hooves trimmed. Malcolm kept a firm grip and did the job as quickly as he could, releasing each sheep back into the pasture in turn with a “Good girl” and “There you go”. It took a long time, even with two of them.

“No sign of rot,” Malcolm said when they paused.

“Not so far,” Robert said. “Touch wood. It’s good to have your help, Malcolm. You keep them calm.”

“I’m well practised,” Malcolm said.

“Gordon’s well practised,” Robert said, referring to his eldest son, “but he still spooks them whenever he does it. You have a way with sheep.”

Malcolm snorted. “Thanks, Robert.”

“I’m serious.”

“Well, it’s more than anyone would say about me and people.” He imagined, briefly, relating this exchange to Tommy. Then he decided he didn’t want to think about Tommy just now.

At noon, Martha, Robert’s wife, fed them soup in the farmhouse kitchen. They ate quickly, both wanting to get back to work, but Malcolm enjoyed the brief respite from the cold.

“How are things up there?” Robert said, sitting across the table from him and making no effort to drink his soup without slurping, however many disapproving faces Martha made at him.

“Fine,” Malcolm said. Then he added, to make it seem normal, to convince himself it had been normal, “We went to eat at Fiona and Gavin’s last night.”

“Oh, aye?”

“Kathy and Ed were there. Chris and Mary, too.”

“Nice evening?”

“Aye. She’s a good cook.”

Thinking back over the night before, he supposed it could have been worse. It had been nothing much at all, really. Just a couple of sharp comments from Tommy, some awkwardness for everyone, a slightly abrupt end to the evening. Beyond that, what? A sense of barely suppressed rage just glancing out at them in the moments when Tommy let it. Nothing that could be easily put into words, and it was this, coupled with their own embarrassment, that Malcolm thought would prevent the others discussing the evening much among themselves afterwards.

He would have to ring Fiona to say thank you, of course. Probably, he thought, neither of them would mention the awkward part, but would gloss over it with general platitudes about the evening. He began to see that Tommy might be right in his suggestion that they didn’t confront things here. But wasn’t that the safest way in the end? Nothing that had happened could be undone.

The rain had started up again, pattering against the window.

“Shall we get back to work?” Malcolm said.