He is acutely aware the hand he offers her is ingrained with filth, coal dust and worse, but he notices the hand she gives him is also far from perfect. Her fingernails are bitten short and he feels the scratch of callouses against his palm. As he rises from his haunches, he brings her with him, slowly, with care, until they are both on their feet. She lets out an involuntary cry.

‘What is it?’

‘My foot …’ But it is down the lane that she looks. ‘I must find Arthur.’ She tries again to take her weight, but her ankle buckles. She clamps down on her cry, as if ashamed to be making a fuss.

‘Miss, you can’t go wandering around the countryside on that. We need to get you seen to.’

The colour is leaching out of her and Jack is unable to stifle his concern.

‘I’ll go home. I only live a short distance.’

‘Let me help you.’

‘No, really, I’ll be fine … I’ve troubled you enough …’ She casts another anxious glance in the direction of the departed horse. ‘I shouldn’t even be here …’ she says miserably, looking away.

‘Miss, you won’t get far without some help. It’s no bother.’

Her reluctance is evident, but in the end she relents. A single tear spills down her cheek as she tries to manoeuvre herself round, but she quickly wipes it away and Jack passes no comment. She takes his offered arm and begins to hop beside him, but it is soon evident he is providing insufficient support.

‘Here, let me …’ he hesitates, conscious of not offending or frightening her in any way. ‘Three-legged race, like,’ his lips quirk, ‘you can lean on me properly then. You need to avoid putting pressure on that foot.’

She cautiously considers his proposal. ‘All right,’ she concedes at last. ‘Yes, thank you.’ He feels her tense as he slips his arm behind her waist, but a moment later she rests her arm across his shoulders.

‘I live just ten minutes or so …’ she gestures vaguely in the direction he had been going before the van appeared.

‘Right. You ready?’

They move awkwardly at first. She grits her teeth and tries not to rely on him, but as her lips twitch with pain her reticence begins to slip until finally, through necessity, she loads him with her weight. They proceed more easily then, a synchronicity to their movements, and suddenly Jack is transported back to the Gateshead Fair and Jenny, doubled over, binding their ankles while he protests, giggling wildly as he tries to down his lukewarm beer before the race begins. Unexpected emotion clogs his throat. He lifts his face into the breeze and it stings his eyes. He pushes all thoughts of Jenny away and his molten heart becomes steel once again.

‘This is very kind of you,’ she manages after a while.

‘Nee bother, miss.’

‘Gwen.’ She glances his way. ‘My name is Gwen.’