Gwen’s breaths are ragged. The colour recedes from her cheeks and her eyelids flutter as her lips fall apart. Jack darts his arm around her waist as she begins to sway.

‘Stand tall, lass,’ he whispers, his lips so close to her ear strands of hair catch upon them. ‘Don’t become the object of idle gossip.’ His muscles strain against her weight as his fingers bite into the soft dip of her waist. His body becomes her scaffold.

From the dais, Gordon begins to speak, thanking those gathered for their good wishes.

Gwen turns to Jack with blind eyes. Her confusion is palpable. Her knees buckle again, and he grits his teeth as he struggles to keep her on her feet.

‘Walk with me.’ He speaks softly, trying to penetrate her blank gaze. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Tears begin to swell at the corner of her eyes. As the rapt crowd listens to Gordon’s silken speech, Jack draws Gwen away, keen their departure should attract as little attention as possible. As they fall back through the rows, his grip slips from her waist to her stone-cold hand. Once free of the gathering, he tugs her behind a marquee.

Now hidden from view, she snatches herself free of him and stumbles forward. She clamps her hand over her mouth to gag her mournful cries. Her whole body begins to tremble, and Jack finds her sudden fragility unbearable. This is not the Gwen he knows. This is not the sturdy girl who labours beside him with robust energy and a speedy smile. Her treacherous lover has stripped the strength from her bones and left her brittle. She is breaking before his very eyes and he cannot stand it.

‘It’s a mistake …’ He catches the words amongst her faint mutterings as she begins to pace, her aimless steps driven by confusion and disbelief. ‘His parents … corralled him … they don’t know … he hasn’t been able to say … When they know …’