Esther had a kind of love for Matthew. He was the father of her child and the maternal spirit that was within her would always hold a place in her heart for the man who had sired her child. And it was she, Esther, he now needed. A broken wreck of a man, it was her from whom he could draw strength. She could not desert him, whatever the desires of her own heart might be.

She could almost hear within her head Ma Harris’s words, ‘As ye sow, so shall ye reap.’ And down the years Beth’s shrill cry still echoed, ‘Ya’ll reap a bitter harvest . . .’

Oh, what a bitter harvest she must now reap.

Esther waited for the solace of tears, but now they would not come. Not any more. Her time for weeping was over. The future stretched before her, bleak and lonely.

With heavy limbs she dragged herself upright and taking one more look at the calm sea and the gentle sky streaked by the setting sun, she turned away and walked back along the Spit towards home.

As she did so, she knew she was turning her back for the last time on all her dreams of love.

They all came to see him. One by one and from all around, those who knew Matthew, hearing the news, came knocking at the door, a joyous smile of welcome upon their lips. But they went away sick at heart, no longer smiling, no longer rejoicing at such a homecoming.

Yet out of every sadness, usually there’s some good comes. Esther smiled, thinking of Ma and her sayings. ‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.’

All the gossip about Esther and the soldier stopped just as if it had never happened. The community drew in around itself to protect its own. Not one of them would ever tell Matthew how his wife had taken up with a soldier even before she had been told that he, Matthew, was presumed killed. For how could you tell the poor gibbering idiot such a thing? Besides, wasn’t she the angel of mercy herself the way she was looking after him now? And the young soldier – what was his name? They couldn’t rightly remember – he’d never come back nor by all accounts had he even written to her. For didn’t they all know exactly who had cards and letters at the Point? No word had ever come to Mrs Hilton except the telegram and the official letter about Matthew. Esther guessed – and guessed correctly – at what the talk would be over the pints in the Seagull.

Without a word being spoken directly, Esther felt the change towards her, and, most gratifyingly, the last vestige of any lingering animosity between herself and Ma Harris was swept away.

‘Eh, lass, Ah said ya’d have to pay, but Ah wouldn’t have wished this upon ya. Not in a million years!’