‘The bottom of that henhouse has a hole in it. Now I don’t mind the mice getting in as the chickens usually take care of them.’ Tom was pulling a face. ‘They’re almost as good as a cat for killing mice but rats are an issue. They eat the eggs, and sometimes go for the birds so it needs boarding up.’ She went inside the henhouse and plonked down the toolbox.

They worked together. Maggie marked the size of the piece of wood needed and Tom sawed it under instruction. Maggie held the wood in place and Tom picked up the hammer and a nail. His brow was furrowed as he held the nail in place, brought down the hammer and missed, whacking his thumb in the process.

‘Ow, sh… sugar,’ he said with a yelp and Maggie hid her amusement.

‘You’d do better if you held the hammer nearer the head. You’ll have more control,’ she advised.

Tom adjusted his grip, narrowed his eyes in concentration and recommenced tapping at the nail head.

‘You can hit it a bit harder. Imagine you’re not stopping at the head but hammering to the wood.’

‘Okay,’ he said, but didn’t look convinced. He brought down the hammer as instructed and in three hits it was secured. A few more nails and the repair was complete.

‘You’ve done a fine job there,’ said Maggie and Tom pulled back his shoulders, almost radiating pride. ‘You’ve earned yourself some eggs. Basket’s over there.’

As he stood up he caught the sleeve of his top on the latch and they both heard something rip.

‘Let’s have a look,’ said Maggie.

‘Don’t worry. This top is knackered anyway.’ Tom inspected the tear.

‘I could fix that.’ She ran an eye over the worn fabric. ‘You’ll need to take it off, mind. I’ve probably got a plain T-shirt you can pop on while I stitch it up.’

‘No, really. It’s not worth it. But thanks.’ He gave her a wan smile.

‘Right. As a kid were you any good at building things like Lego or Meccano?’

‘I was all right,’ said Tom.

‘Excellent.’ Maggie rubbed her hands together. ‘Then I’ve got another job that’s right up your alley.’

*

Maggie showed Tom how to put sheep hurdles together to make pens for when the lambs arrived. Tom was a quick learner and made light work of the cumbersome metal hurdles. Back at the house Maggie served up stew, dumplings and a mountain of vegetables. She caught sight of Tom’s disappointed face. ‘Sorry it’s not a roast but I can’t spare any more hens at the moment.’

‘Okay,’ said Tom, his frown tightening. ‘Was the chicken… was it one of yours?’

‘Of course it was. You don’t go to the shop for a frozen one if you’ve got fresh at home.’

‘I guess not.’ He looked shocked.