When he came out of the front room, carrying his belongings, she went with him to the hole in the hedge and watched him walk away from her, his bundle of clothes slung over his shoulder.

Oh, Rob, her heart was crying silently. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. But she made no sound and, whistling, Rob walked on.

The day Grandpa Godfrey came downstairs for the first time was like Christmas.

‘Aah,’ he said, giving a big sigh as he sat down in the Windsor chair at the side of the range, ‘it’s nice to be back in the land of the living.’

Esther stood beside him, put her hand on his shoulder and kissed the top of his head. ‘You’ll soon be out tinkering with your tractor and doing the ploughing.’

‘Oh no, he won’t,’ Ella said. ‘A bit of tinkering, maybe. But the ploughing – oh no!’ Then realizing she might have sounded too harsh, added, ‘Well, not this year anyway. You’re just going to sit and watch me out the window and tell me off when I get the furrows crooked.’

Esther, still standing with her hand resting on Jonathan’s shoulder, stared at her granddaughter. ‘But I thought, now we’re better, you’d . . .’ she began, and then fell silent.

‘What? What did you think?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Esther murmured, stroking her husband’s hair.

Unseen by her grandmother, Ella winked broadly at her grandpa and was rewarded by his knowing smile. ‘Now you’re both up and about,’ Ella went on, ‘I’ll have to tackle the outside work and the ploughing’s first on the list. Well?’ She glanced from one to the other. ‘It won’t do itsen, will it?’

She heard her grandfather’s deep chuckle and saw him reach up and pat Esther’s hand where it still lay on his shoulder. ‘I reckon you’ve met your match at last, Esther Godfrey.’ And still chortling, he leant his head back against the wooden back of the chair and closed his eyes. ‘Met your match at last!’

‘It’s Grandpa’s birthday two weeks before Christmas, isn’t it?’ Ella remarked towards the end of November.

Esther wiped the vestiges of the sticky pastry she was making from her hands. ‘Yes. Why?’

‘How old is he?’

Her grandmother wrinkled her forehead. ‘Seventy.’

‘I thought he might be.’ Ella nodded. ‘Do you think he’s well enough for us to have a bit of a party for him?’

The green eyes were wary. ‘Who’re you going to invite?’

Ella hid her smile and put her head on one side and said, deliberately casual, ‘Well, Peggy, of course. And then there’s all our friends from round about . . .’

The suspicion deepened. ‘Friends?’ came the clipped reply. ‘What friends?’

‘Well, there’s the Maines and the Harris boys from the Point,’ Ella ticked them off on her fingers. ‘The Souters . . .’

Esther pulled a face.

‘. . . and, of course, the Elands.’