Sandy made no attempt to move back to Utra even though his room was free. He even took it upon himself to milk Mima’s cow. Early in the morning and late in the afternoon he would sit on the box in the shed, wipe the udders with the cloth he’d brought out from the house and watch the liquid squirt into the bucket. After the first few tries, with his father watching and grinning, it had come easily to him. Maybe it was like riding a bike, he thought, one of those skills that, once you learned, you never forgot. He remembered Mima teaching him when he was a child, laughing at his first tentative attempts to get milk to come. ‘You’ll need to be firmer than that boy. Squeeze and pull. They’ll not come off in your hands. That’s more like it.’ It had been one of the few things he’d managed better than Michael. Sitting here this morning, the smell was exactly the same. Cow and muck and the rich sweet smell of the new milk. There was the same sense of achievement too when the pail was full.

Later he took the churn round to Utra. His father was out on the hill. Sandy could see him in the distance as he walked down the track to the house. Evelyn was in the kitchen at the table, poring over sheets of paper. More lists. He’d thought all that was over after the funeral, but now it seemed she had other plans; there was something else for her to organize. At first she didn’t talk about it. She took the milk and poured half into a jug to go in the fridge. The rest she set to stand in the kitchen.

‘I thought I’d make some soft cheese,’ she said. ‘Do you mind, Sandy, we used to make it when you were bairns?’

‘What’s all this?’ he asked, nodding towards the paper, the ruled columns, the round handwriting.

‘We’re having a do in the Lindby Hall,’ she said. ‘A sort of memorial for Mima and Hattie. And to give folk a chance to see the silver coins and hear about the project. The press will be interested too. I can organize the catering.’

Sandy thought that was his mother all over. Once she’d made up her mind about something there could be no delay. It had to happen immediately. The timing seemed in poor taste to him. What was the hurry?

‘What does my father say about it?’

‘He thinks it’s a good idea.’

‘Really?’ Sandy was astonished. The last he’d heard, Joseph hadn’t even wanted the dig on Setter land. Wouldn’t all these visitors want to see where the coins had been found? His father was a private man. He would hate all the fuss and the disruption to his routine.