The fleece sale was an annual event and she cadged a lift with Savage every year. Savage was first and foremost a commercial sheep farmer but his family had always bred Jacobs, to keep their own pure bloodline for mixing with the commercials. She knew he had a soft spot for the breed but he’d never let on. His commercial fleeces didn’t fetch much but the rare breeds fared slightly better and her lavenders better still. Savage always offered to take Maggie’s for her, and she did trust him to get a fair price, but it was a day out and a change of scenery so despite the fact they barely spoke from the moment they left Furrow’s Cross until they returned she nevertheless enjoyed it.

She was looking forward to it. The folk at the fleece sale were mainly crafters, as it was focused on rare breed fleeces, and there were often some commercial sellers but they were all sheep people and it was good to catch up with them. She only saw them once a year but the natter over a fleece and a cup of tea was always enjoyable.

Savage didn’t like waiting around, therefore with ten minutes to spare, Maggie was already in the hallway with her keys in her hand. Her mind was somewhere else. The telephone startled her and she raced off to answer it, already cursing that if Savage turned up and she wasn’t ready he’d be even grumpier than usual.

‘Maggie?’ It was a voice she didn’t recognise.

‘Yes, who is this?’ She frantically checked her watch.

‘Ah, well I’m Lyle and I’ve got your grandson here.’

The caller suddenly had all of her attention. ‘I’m sorry. What did you say?’

‘Tom. I’ve got your grandson, Tom, with me. He’s had an accident…’ Maggie couldn’t help the gasp that escaped. ‘He’s okay… well, I knocked him off his bike.’

‘Oh my goodness. Is he in hospital?’

‘No, I offered to take him but he says he’s all right.’

‘Could I speak to him please?’ Grandson, he’d said he was her grandson. Then she realised it was probably more about how embarrassed he would have been to say he was friends with a seventy-two-year-old woman. But still, grandson.

‘Yep. Here you go.’ There was a muffled exchange as the phone was passed on.

‘I didn’t know who to call,’ came Tom’s strained voice. ‘The bike’s knackered and Dad’s going to kill me. He needs it for work tonight. I’ve got an exam and I don’t know what to do.’

Maggie swept her emotions aside and went into efficient mode. ‘Where does it hurt and how bad it is it?’

‘My right side. My thigh. Kind of like the worst dead leg ever and it’s throbbing but I can stand on it.’

‘Excellent. Nothing broken then. What happened?’