‘What’s up, Katie?’ He peered at her through the gloom and although she could not see the expression in his eyes, she could hear the concern in his voice. It caused a lump in her throat and tears to prickle her eyelids. At least Danny cares, she thought. The words came tumbling from her lips in a jumble, falling over themselves in her eagerness to tell him of her distress.

‘Me mam’s been to Lincoln – to that school – it’s all arranged. I’m to go in two weeks. She’s sending me away!’ The last was on a wail of despair.

He came and stood in front of her. He put his arms about her and she clung to him, burying her face against his shoulder. They stood on the headland, silhouetted against the red gold of the setting sun. She felt his hands, rough and calloused with the heavy work he now did daily, but surprisingly gentle, stroke her hair. ‘Don’t cry, Katie. It’ll be all right. Perhaps you’ll enjoy it when you get there . . .’

‘I won’t!’ Her words were muffled against him but none the less vehement. ‘I’ll hate it! I’ll miss you so much!’

Involuntarily his arms tightened about her. She lifted her face up and tilted her head back and then wound her arms around his neck. They gazed at each other.

‘Katie . . .’ he began, but whatever he had been going to say, the words remained unspoken for at that moment a shout made them both turn to see Kate’s mother, her skirts held high, running towards them. ‘Keep away from her, Danny Eland. Dun’t you lay a finger on her else I’ll . . .’

Kate gasped, shocked to see the rage on her mother’s face. Two spots of vivid colour burned in Esther’s cheeks and her hair was coming loose from its combs and falling down her back.

She reached them and grasped Kate’s arm roughly, jerking her away from Danny.

‘Mam, you’re hurting. Don’t . . .’

‘I’ll hurt you, me girl, if I ever so much as catch you with him again.’

Kate began to struggle against Esther’s grip. This was Danny her mother was talking about; Danny Eland, her lifelong friend.

‘Mam . . .’ she began, but Esther was dragging Kate away from the headland, away from Danny. Kate half-turned back to him, tried to twist out of her mother’s grasp. ‘Danny . . .’ She gave a cry of anguish, but her mother’s hold on her arm only tightened.

He made no move. He was standing on the headland, silhouetted against the burnished evening sky, a lonely, bemused figure, as much at a loss to understand what was happening as Kate herself.

Doors were opening in the cottages and faces peering out as Esther Godfrey hustled her daughter homewards. Grannie Harris and next door to her, Mrs Eland, stepped out on to the grass.