A shadow unfurled across the field. Arthur emerged from the gloom of the woods. Usually he would wait by the hollow tree but here he was, blinking in the sun like a woodland creature, unused to light. From her vantage point on the slight slope down from the farmhouse, she could see him clearly, his form cut out by the cool sun and looking away from her towards the sea. Warmth trickled into her blood at the familiar sight of him. And yet, as she watched him, his mouth looked set, hard and fixed. He didn’t look the same. Was it some new hardness that had been instilled in him by National Service? She remembered her letters, or the lack of them. She had no good excuse – except that when she’d lifted her pen to write she didn’t have the words to describe her motherless state. And with his absence she’d begun to wonder what they were to each other. Arthur was all tied up with her childhood and now that world had been shattered. He might be tired of her now. He might have met a girl… Her whole body withdrew and the heat evaporated from her skin. She felt like turning, running back and carrying on running, as far away as she could.

But she was being a coward. It must be something in her – some coldness, or distance. Since the funeral she’d hardly seen him. In her grief she hadn’t noticed, but now it felt as if he was no longer part of the family. She bit her thumbnail. It was Arthur, her beloved Arthur. She’d known him since he was a skinny eight-year-old evacuee, brought home by her mother. Still, she didn’t move. Then there was a whisper in the barley – a snap, a vibration in the sheaves – a ferret or a fox – and he looked up and saw her.

Quickly, she began to walk towards him, closing the gap across the last field. He stood still, his hand shielding his eyes. As she reached him, she took in his wavy brown hair that wouldn’t lie flat, the dark eyes and the thick eyebrows she liked to touch. The months apart vibrated between them.

She said, ‘There’s something different about you but I can’t think what it is,’ and reached up and ruffled his hair. It wasn’t what she’d planned to say to him.

He frowned. ‘You too,’ he said, and took her hand.

In the woods, something sour mingled with the sweet pine sap, making the air smell sickly. An animal rustled in the ferns underfoot and scooted off. A light breeze shook the pine needles and she shivered.