‘What man?’ Gwen asks sharply, but something has caught Tom’s eye in the verge and he drifts away to investigate. Squatting down, he starts poking the long grass with a stick. Gwen looks at Nora. ‘What man?’

‘That rather dishy chap we saw the other day.’ Nora grins. ‘You never told me he was the local gentry. Unfortunately, it appears he’s married … not that that necessarily matters.’

‘What were you doing talking to him?’

‘He just happened along as we were putting the cows back. We got chatting, that’s all.’

‘About what? What did he want?’

‘Nothing, he was just being friendly, charming …’

‘He asked me what my name was and then he managed to guess how old I am,’ Tom chirps up.

‘Yes, he took quite a shine to young Tom here, didn’t he, Tom?’ Nora grins.

‘He was really nice. Look, Mummy, a toad!’

‘Leave it alone, Tom,’ Gwen snaps, and when he fails to comply she grabs his arm and hauls him to his feet. ‘I said to leave it alone! Now go on inside and get your breakfast.’

‘I’ve had my breakfast.’

‘Go inside to Muriel, Tom.’

He pouts but wisely decides not to press his luck and kicking up every stone he can find, he wanders up the yard. Gwen rounds on Nora.

‘I don’t want you encouraging Tom to speak to strangers.’

‘I was hardly encouraging him, and Gordon’s a neighbour, not a stranger.’

Gwen is shocked by how casually Nora dispenses his name.

‘I don’t want my son anywhere near that man. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘I’m your employer, Nora. I pay your wages, I put a roof over your head and food on your plate. I don’t answer to you.’

Nora expels an exasperated breath. She shakes her head, her features pinched with contempt. ‘Fine. Whatever you say, Gwen.’ She stalks through the gateway, turning back to offer a mocking tug of her forelock. ‘Ma’am.’

Gwen tips back her head and blinks to keep her tears at bay as the note bites into her balled palm. She forces herself to look at it one last time then, gritting her teeth, she reduces it to paper petals that flutter down to speckle the verge.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jack

September 1939

The country might be at war but there is no discernible difference to their daily lives. Jack takes the bus to Helvedon to register with the local authorities. He takes his place in a queue of men largely silent, though a few brazen lads mouth off, eager to get stuck in. The fear lurking behind their bravado is painful to see.