‘We have to mix it,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said, and they put their bloody left hands together. Her blood was browning, drying, but the fresh blood on his hand was still bright. She gasped as the cuts on their hands met. The pain was sharp and sickening but ebbed as soon as it came, leaving just a throb. She licked her thumb. It tasted metallic and sweet.

‘I think we should kiss now,’ she said. She tried to keep her voice calm and serious, like his was, but her heart was pumping hard. She was thrilled and shocked at herself.

Arthur looked up at her with a pained expression. She had made a mistake. Slowly, he said, ‘I don’t know.’

‘We don’t have to,’ she said, her throat hot with the shame of it and her eyes instantly pricking with tears.

‘No, it’s just I didn’t think. I’ve never…’ He seemed to be squirming with embarrassment.

‘Me neither, silly,’ she said.

The excitement rose again. She leaned towards him and put her lips against his, which were surprisingly fleshy and wet.

A crackle in the undergrowth and they both flinched and spun round. Nothing but the tail of an animal. They collapsed in a laughing heap.

‘Come on,’ she said, pulling him up. ‘I’ll race you back.’

*

A twig snapped. Next to her, Arthur tensed. She had a sudden sensation that they were being watched.

They were. Opening her eyes, she caught a brief glimpse of a fox staring at them. Its eyes were gold, rimmed with black, its coat a deep, tawny red and across its white muzzle a black mouth that seemed to smile. Then it was gone.

It was late. She stood up, brushing crumbs from her skirt. Without looking at him, she said, ‘It’s getting on, Arty, I really ought to go. There’s a tea. Nothing too formal. But Father wanted to mark…’

‘How have you been holding up?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘It was a year ago, actually. It was a year today.’ It came out apologetic as if it was embarrassing to mention. She wanted to be open with him as she’d always been but something was clamming up her mouth. It had been the same on the day of the funeral. He’d tried to comfort her – he’d put his hand on the small of her back, followed her into the pantry and kissed her clumsily. She’d stiffened, unable to accept the affection. He was going back to his posting that night but she couldn’t bring herself to touch him.

‘I’m sorry, I—’ he started but she waved it away.

‘You never did tell me about what you’ve been doing all this time,’ she said, brightly, realising too late that he’d said hardly anything, while she’d chattered inconsequentially in her nervous, overwrought state. The distance between them remained.

*