‘I’ve spoken to County Hall, Mr Pruett,’ said Vera, ‘and they have confirmed that our growing school population qualifies us for a new full-time teacher from next spring term onwards. They said they would write to confirm it.’

‘That’s wonderful news, Vera. Three classes – who would have thought it?’

‘So I’ll draft a letter to the governors, shall I?’

‘Yes, please, and I’ll go and tell Lily.’

Vera was surprised at his eagerness.

Lily was in her classroom writing a list of farm animals on the blackboard.

‘Exciting news,’ said John.

Lily was startled by his sudden appearance. ‘Oh, hello, John. What is it?’

‘County Hall have said we qualify for another full-time teacher from next January. So we can look forward to another member of the team.’

‘That’s wonderful! Well done.’

‘It’s you I have to thank, Lily. Parents on the borders of our catchment area are choosing us instead of Morton or Easington. You’ve brought new life into Ragley.’

Suddenly he was tongue-tied again in her presence. There was so much he wanted to say, but he could not find the words.

Lily seemed to sense his shyness.

‘No, John, you’re the headteacher so you should take the credit.’

‘Well, we’re a team – a good team.’ There was a time when he had thought it might be more than that, but not now … not ever.

Morning surgery had begun at Dr Davenport’s and the waiting room was almost full when Ronnie walked in. It was a gloomy place, with wooden chairs lining the walls. The unwritten rule was that only adults sat down while children remained standing. Ronnie sat and lit up a cigarette to add to the thick pall of smoke that already filled the room.

The woman next to him coughed loudly as Ronnie leaned back and blew a smoke ring. It was meant to impress, but he could see his talents were falling on stony ground. Eventually the youthful, clean-cut Richard Davenport popped his head round the door and said, ‘Next patient, please.’

Ronnie was out of his seat like a rat out of a trap and settled in the visitor’s chair on the other side of Dr Davenport’s desk.

‘So, what seems to be the problem, Mr Smith?’

‘Vertigo, Doctor, summat awful.’

‘Vertigo? What makes you think you have vertigo?’

‘Ah get dizzy when ah stand up quick.’

‘Well, there are other reasons for that. Let me check your blood pressure.’

Richard was thorough as always, but had soon worked out there was little wrong with Ronnie apart from a nicotine addiction and his regular intake of Tetley’s bitter. He gave him a prescription for a simple tonic and advised him to moderate his lifestyle, knowing full well that Ronnie would take no notice.

Ronnie trudged off to the Pharmacy, where he proceeded to tell Herbert he was at death’s door.