‘Aye well, you’ve got a good house to shelter in til the sun comes back,’ said Hopper. ‘My brother Wilf helped the contractors with the brickwork on your front wall. Charged a fair price.’

‘Your James was on the early bus,’ said Mont, turning back to Flick. ‘Hard worker that one.’

‘Aye, likes to get in early and spend some time in the art room.’

‘Sits on his own still,’ said Hopper, a little sadly. ‘I always tell him to come sit at the front by me but he won’t have it. Stares out the window. I reckon he’s happy enough. Not like your youngest. By he’s a handful. Keeps you on your toes, eh?’

‘Am I paying you to chatter?’

We looked up as a sudden harsh Geordie voice replaced the sound of sparks falling on wet ground. Gordon had removed his head from the tractor. He was probably fifty years old but there was so much grime on his face it was hard to say. He was a squat, round-shouldered man with close-cropped red hair and a moustache that reached to his chin and which was so darkened with grime that it looked like a horse had left a hoofprint on his face. He had welding goggles perched high on his head so that he took on the appearance of a fly and as he gave a curt nod at Flick, I saw him poking his tongue into his cheek as if trying to dislodge some food. I realized a moment later that he was actually trying to better situate his false teeth, which appeared to have been designed for somebody with a smaller mouth. They slurped and rattled and whistled as he spoke. If he’d had a pet budgerigar, it would have died from the stress.

‘Good to see you, Felicity,’ he said, rubbing his hands on his overalls. ‘You’ll be keeping my lads from their work, I see, eh pet?’

Hopper and Mont grinned at their boss.

‘Cig break, boss,’ said Hopper. ‘Starting the Longtown run once the weather’s been on the wireless.’

‘You’ll get that bloody coach there even if there’s an iceberg in the way,’ said Gordon, giving them a stern look. He turned his attention to me. ‘You’re from the Winslow farm,’ he said, without much enthusiasm. ‘Your husband have owt to do with shutting the railway?’

I stared straight at him, wondering what was best to say. I had no idea whether it was anything to do with Cranham.

‘I don’t think that’s his department,’ I said, apologetically.

‘Well if it were his doing then shake his hand fer me,’ he said, grinning. ‘Best thing to happen for me business in years, though there’ll be plenty who’ll moan and whine that it’s going to kill the place off. Kill it off, I tell you! Like the government hasn’t been trying to do that for years!’