‘Never mind that bloody horse, Gwen!’ Her father paces the room, his agitation ill-masked. ‘I’d put a bullet in him if he were here. I’ve told you before – he’s too damn skittish for my liking.’

‘It wasn’t his fault, Dad,’ Gwen says. She cries out as Muriel eases off her boots.

‘If he was steadier, he wouldn’t have thrown you. No, I’ll not have you ride him any longer – I’ll see him in the knacker’s yard before I see you on him again.’

‘Hush now, Jim, for goodness’ sake, that sort of talk isn’t helping at all.’

Jack spies the wedding ring on Muriel’s finger and wonders if she is a replacement for the woman in the picture. She peels back Gwen’s sock to reveal an engorged foot already turning a nasty shade of purple. Gwen’s father grimaces.

‘Could it be broken?’ he asks.

Gwen breathes in sharply as Muriel begins a careful examination. ‘I don’t think so, or at least nothing major – she’s pulled it every which way though. But, Gwen, I do want to have a proper look at you, if you’ve been dragged about like this young man says you have.’

‘It was nothing …’ Gwen mutters.

‘All the same, I’d rather give you the once-over. Come on now.’ Muriel helps her to sit up.

‘I should—’ Jack starts, colour rising to his cheeks, but the farmer cuts him off.

‘You come with me, lad.’

He wants to steal a final look, curious to see if she will make any attempt to watch him go, to catch his eye, perhaps say thank you. But Muriel is talking to her again, blocking her from his view, and he is disappointed that the opportunity has been snatched away. Instead, he follows her father from the room and though he longs to glance back at her, he resists the temptation to do so.

Just as he is pulling the door to, she calls out.

‘Don’t leave yet, will you?’

He is unable to suppress his smile.

Chapter Eight

Gwen

8th May 1945

‘Right, that’s me done,’ Muriel says, putting away the last of the washed-up dishes from the evening meal. ‘You’d best get a move on.’