‘Come on now, Tom, do as your mam asks. You’ll get your chance in a little while.’ Jack crouches down before him. He chucks the boy’s chin. ‘And what about I see if there’s any chance you can stand up in the engine at some point – would you like that? And I wonder if there’s a whistle to be blown …’ He glances at Gwen unsure if he is promising too much, but her twitching lips reassure him. He grins. ‘I bet you can make that whistle scream like no one else can. So, what do you say? Go in now, while your mam and I get sorted, and we’ll make sure you have a proper chance to explore it all later.’

Appeased, Tom nods. Jack musses his hair and pushes himself back up, warmed by the appreciation in Gwen’s eyes.

‘We need the ladder and the pitchforks from the shed,’ she says.

‘I’ll help you. Come on, Tom, let’s get you inside.’

They watch Tom run up the steps, waiting until he has disappeared through the back door before they carry on to the implement shed.

‘You seem to know this lot well,’ Jack says, tipping his head towards the team of men.

‘They’ve been coming here for years,’ she says, entering the shade of the building. ‘Since I was a little girl. They do all the farms around here. They’ll be going on to Ted next. He’ll probably pop over later to see how we’re getting on.’ She heads straight for the long ladder, hanging horizontally across the back wall.

‘Let me,’ Jack says, and reaching past her he lifts the ladder clear of its hooks. She falls back as their bodies brush, colour rising in her cheeks.

‘I’ll bring the pitchforks,’ she says. She seems grateful for an excuse to move away.

Back in the rickyard, three men are busy connecting the thresher’s belts to the engine’s flywheel, while two others are hanging hessian sacks from the chutes on the thresher’s end, ready to catch the grain shaken free of the straw. While the machine is prepared, Gwen and Jack harness Bobby to the wagon and ready it to be loaded with sacks of corn.

The foreman shouts to Gwen that they are nearly done. She props the ladder against the nearest rick and gestures for Jack to lead the way. He climbs swiftly, one hand on the ladder, the other gripping the heavy pitchfork. Once on the top rungs, he throws it onto the stack then scrabbles up after it. He relieves Gwen of her pitchfork when she appears, then offers her his hand. He sees her cautious hesitation, but after a second’s deliberation she reaches out to take it and he pulls her up. She staggers slightly and his arm darts out to steady her. Their eyes snag as she finds her footing.