‘Maggie!’ Tom’s desperate voice reached her. Joy coursed through her and for a moment the shivering abated.

‘I’m here!’ she called.

She heard his thumping feet pounding the ground behind her as he ran towards her. ‘Maggie!’

She slapped a smile on her face. She didn’t want to worry him. Poor lad had been worried enough of late.

‘Hello,’ she said, like she were meeting him in a tea shop, as he skidded to a halt next to her. She must have looked a fright.

‘What the hell?’ His eyes scanned her from head to toe and then fixed on her puffed-up ankle. She’d never felt quite so old and frail and she loathed it.

‘Bloody quad bike tyre popped and it threw me off.’

‘Where’s the bike?’ He stood up and looked about. The bike was barely visible at the bottom of the slope. ‘Bloody hell! Did you fall down there?’

‘No. I jumped off before it toppled. Can you help me up? My bum’s gone numb.’

He shook his head. ‘What hurts?’

‘Left ankle and ribs but…’ Before she could add anything else to the list Tom had crouched down and lifted her to her feet.

‘Whoa! Ow!’

‘You all right?’ he asked, keeping her upright as she found her balance.

‘Been better,’ she said, choked by the care he was showing her.

‘You’re frozen,’ said Tom. ‘Put your arm around my neck and it’ll be like the three-legged race.’

They both started to laugh and it seemed to propel them back to the farmhouse. The laughter dulled the pain of each step and Tom took her mind off it by updating her on his day.

Inside Maggie soon found herself wrapped in towels and hugging a mug of tea although the shivering hadn’t stopped. She was overwhelmed by Tom’s kindness. He’d got her settled, dug out some paracetamol, and now he was trying to get the fire going.

‘Don’t chuck the kindling in. Layer it up like that silly toppling-over game the kids play.’

‘Jenga?’

‘That’s the one. Like that but with some gaps in. Ball up some newspaper and scatter it around and about too.’

‘Yes, boss,’ he said, with a salute. She liked how he’d got cheeky with her. The shy boy was almost a thing of the past, at least in her company. ‘You sure you shouldn’t get someone to look at your ankle tonight?’

‘No we’ll know in the morning if it’s broken or not. The colour and the swelling will tell us that.’

He shook his head at her. ‘You’re a wise old owl.’ He seemed to mutter it to himself as he arranged some logs on top of his Jenga masterpiece.

‘And when you’ve done that please can you bring me the chopping board, a knife and an onion?’ she asked. ‘I need to get dinner on.’