She is so tired as she writes the team’s cheque that the pen almost slips from her fingers. When the foreman tucks it into the breast pocket of his filthy work shirt, he seems less amiable than before, as if the incident in the lane has corrupted his previously good opinion of her. As she stands to wave them off, the traction engine thundering down the yard, the threshing box and baler rolling behind, she notices only one of the men raises his hand in farewell.

Ted departs soon after. He adjusts his cap as he mumbles his goodbyes and modestly waves away her sincerely expressed gratitude. His gaze strays to Jack who continues to tidy the yard and when he looks back at Gwen she notices a change about him.

‘Try not to worry, Gwen.’ He lays a dusty hand on her arm. ‘If Allingham means you or Tom harm, it’ll be over my dead body, you have my word on that.’

Tears sting her eyes, but she does not allow them leverage. She has cried too much already today.

‘You have always been a pillar of support for me, Ted.’

He doesn’t quite manage a smile. When he speaks, barely suppressed emotion throttles his words. ‘It’s always been my pleasure, Gwen.’

As he clears his throat, he catches sight of Jack emptying his yard shovel into the wheelbarrow.

‘An honest hard worker, that one. Always has been.’ He summons a mournful smile. ‘Goodnight, Gwen.’

‘Goodnight, Ted … thank you.’

She watches him as he strolls down the yard, fumbling in his pockets for his cigarettes as he goes. He pauses in the gateway just long enough to light one, flicking the extinguished match to the ground as he turns towards home.

Gwen sinks her face into her hands, then releases a long sigh, ready to face the world again.

Muriel appears at the top step. She has stayed late to look after Tom. She matches Gwen’s worn smile.

‘I’ve had the copper on a good while. If you take shallow baths, there should be enough for both you and Jack to get yourselves cleaned up.’

Gwen lets out a moan of delight. Her skin itches under its film of sharp dust and she can barely rake her fingers through her brittle hair.

‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather do right now than have a bath.’

‘Well, I’ll pour yours. Give me five minutes,’ Muriel says.

‘How’s Tom?’

‘In his pyjamas, but he refuses to go to sleep until he’s seen you … and Jack,’ she adds quietly.

Gwen looks up the yard again to Jack, still labouring away. She thinks back on the day’s events, his swift response to the danger facing Tom, his tenderness as he rescued him from the verge. Her heart blossoms with the significance of it all.

‘I’ll be in … let me just tell Jack.’