A month after Matthew had left, a postcard arrived from him addressed to his wife. As Will handed it to her, Esther read the words Matthew had written so laboriously. ‘I am well. I hope you are too. Matthew.’ As an obvious afterthought, he added at the bottom, ‘And the child’.

Esther sighed and a wry smile twitched her lips. Which child was he really thinking about, she wondered. Kate? Or his son who lived in the boat on the river bank?

She pulled the back door wider. ‘Come on in, Will, ya dinner’s on the table.’

‘Eh, ya’re a grand lass and no mistake.’

‘You’ve always been good to me, Will. An’ I never forget those that’s done me good turns.’

Will grinned amiably, and said shrewdly, ‘Aye, an’ I reckon you dun’t forget those that’s done you a bad turn either, eh, lass?’

Esther laughed aloud, her bright eyes glinting. ‘How well you know me, Will Benson.’

‘Aye,’ Will murmured more to himself than to her. ‘I reckon I do at that.’

Esther handed Matthew’s postcard back to Will for him to read. He smiled. ‘Not much of a letter writer, is he?’

‘No, but at least he’s actually written to me.’

They exchanged a glance of understanding. Will nodded but said nothing more, deliberately concentrating on the meat and potato pie she had placed before him. As always, after the first few mouthfuls, Will made a pretence of looking around the room as if he had just remembered. As usual, he said with careful casualness, ‘Where’s the little one, then?’

It had become a ritual between them. Esther replied, ‘Sleeping upstairs, but I’ll fetch her down before you go.’

Satisfied, Will nodded. ‘I’ve got a present for her.’

‘Oh, Will, really! You spoil the child. You really shouldn’t bring her something every week.’

Will grinned. ‘Well, if I can’t spoil me – ’ he cleared his throat and finished – ‘me favourite little girl, then I dun’t know who can.’

Gently, Esther said, ‘Didn’t you ever have any children, Will?’

There was a long silence whilst Will kept his eyes downcast, concentrating on his plate as he mopped up the last vestige of gravy with a piece of bread, savouring every morsel. Esther thought perhaps she had trespassed too far on his privacy, that he was going to ignore her question, but at last he raised his head slowly and looked directly into her eyes.

Choosing his words carefully, he said ‘It never happened with me and the wife, and then not very many years after we was wed she – well – she didn’t like that side of things. Y’know . . .’ Their eyes held together in a steady gaze. ‘But she were a good wife in every other way, every other way. And I – never wanted to see her hurt. I still don’t.’