‘Go on, Dad, get going. Mek him run. ‘E shouldn’t be late.’

Smiling, Jonathan would flick the reins to make the docile pony inch forward, the animal seeming to know it was all in the game and that he shouldn’t set off too quickly but give the boy a fair chance of catching them.

‘Come on, Danny, faster, faster . . .’ Kate would stand up in the trap shouting back to him, her merry laughter bouncing on the breeze. ‘We’ll leave ya and ya’ll be late an’ get the cane.’ Then she would say to Jonathan, ‘Let him catch us now, Dad, he’s out o’ puff.’

Jonathan would ease back on the reins to halt the pony and the boy would clamber up into the back of the trap, breathless and red in the face, but laughing. Always Danny Eland seemed to have a broad grin on his tanned face.

But this morning there would be no game and no laughter because there would be no Danny.

Kate sat stiff and silent in the trap, looking back down the empty lane. Her gaze took in the flat fields stretching westwards as far as she could see, trees dotted black against the low horizon. The lane wound gently following the natural line of the sand-dunes all the way to the outskirts of Lynthorpe.

Just before they reached the first houses, Jonathan turned the trap to the left and took a lane leading inland. ‘We mustn’t forget to pick Rosie up.’ He smiled down at Kate, but her normally happy face was solemn.

She felt lost without Danny.

When the trap pulled up outside the smithy, however, and little Rosie Maine came running up, Kate’s spirits lifted a little. It was impossible not to be cheered by Rosie – she was such a bright chatter-box, with white-gold bouncing curls, merry blue eyes and a round chubby face that always seemed to be smiling. Jonathan held out his hand and the child climbed up the step into the trap. She flung her arms about Kate’s neck and hugged her hard. Then she sat down and pulled her skimpy dress over her knees. Already, the shapeless shift dress seemed too short for her. Over it, she wore a grey hand-knitted jumper that had been washed so many times, the wool stitches had matted together.

Rosie swung her bare legs and giggled as she pointed at her canvas shoe. ‘Look, me big toe’s poking through. I got a new pair at Easter, but me mam ses I’ll only spoil ’em if I wear ’em for school.’

She wriggled closer to Kate and slipped her hand through the older girl’s arm. ‘Ooh, I ’ave missed you, Kate, these holidays. I didn’t even get down to see me Grannie Harris and to come an’ play with you. Me mam’s been a bit poorly. She’s having another babby, y’know.’