‘She can’t feed three.’

‘No. But Barbara here only has one lamb.’

Tom grinned. ‘Great. We get Barbara to adopt one.’

‘Not that easy. She needs to think it’s hers.’

‘How do we do that?’

Maggie pulled a face. ‘You’re not going to like it but it’s for a good cause.’

Maggie explained to Tom that if he shoved his hand inside Barbara, made a fist and pulled it out there was a small chance she would believe she had given birth again and that the extra lamb was hers. After a small amount of protest Tom conceded defeat and got in the pen with Barbara. Maggie moved the hurdle up against Barbara to hem her in and kept her busy at her front end with a handful of sheep nuts while Tom braced himself for the job at the business end.

He closed his eyes, made some noises like a wrestler and thrust his hand where no hand should go. Maggie dashed around to the other pen, swiped Nancy’s spare lamb and brushed him over with straw Barbara’s lamb had been lying on before setting him down. Barbara was surprisingly unfazed by Tom’s assault until he made a fist and pulled his hand back out when she bleated her displeasure. Maggie shifted the hurdle back to its original position, to give the sheep room to move. When Barbara turned around Nancy’s lamb was lying in the straw behind her. Barbara dutifully went to it. She paused for a second to sniff it and Maggie and Tom held their breath until she began to wash it.

‘Yes!’ said Tom, punching the air.

‘Well done, Tom,’ said Maggie, letting him out of the pen. She was proud of how he’d galvanised himself and got on with the task. ‘That isn’t the nicest of jobs and to be honest it rarely works.’ They watched the two ewes with their “twin” lambs.

‘I don’t know,’ said Tom. ‘Once you get over how gross it is, it’s actually quite warm in there.’ He looked surprised at his own words and they both laughed.

Back in the house Maggie directed Tom to the shower and left out clean towels and some clothes for him while she salvaged what she could of breakfast. He appeared in the kitchen adjusting a long-sleeved top with a fashion logo emblazoned across the chest.

‘That fits you okay,’ she said, putting the plates on the table.

‘It’s well nice,’ said Tom. ‘Were these your son’s?’ He put the rest of the clothes selection she’d left out for him on the spare kitchen chair.

Maggie seemed to baulk at the question. ‘Ah. No, I got those for you.’

Tom looked puzzled as he sat down and reached for the ketchup. ‘What, to keep?’