The public bar is as busy as it ever was. The quarry-tiled floor beneath her feet is tacky with spilt beer and a wiry terrier is lapping up a puddle from beneath a bar stool. Gwen spots Nora in the far corner, playing to a crowded table of young men sporting drink-flushed faces, and she knows at once that the Land Girl will not be coming home. She is laughing loudly, her throaty rasp inviting and sensuous as she sits on the lap of the youngest Adler boy whose family farms across the valley, uncaring that the skirt of her dress has ridden up to expose more thigh than is decent. Gwen suddenly feels much older than her twenty-five years, and she is on the brink of abandoning her fruitless mission when Nora spies her through the fog of cigarette smoke.

‘Gwen! There you are! Come and join us. Move along, boys, let the lady take a seat.’

‘No, no really, I can’t sit down …’ Gwen stutters, halting the noisy seat shuffle. ‘Tom’s tuckered out, so I’m going to take him home. I just wondered whether you were ready?’

Nora rifles through the many cigarette boxes discarded amongst the drained glasses on the table until she finds one that isn’t empty. Helping herself, she calls for a light.

‘I thought I might stay on a bit longer yet.’ She leans across the table to cup the flaming match offered by one of her eager lotharios. She draws in and sits back, wriggling herself into a better position to address Gwen. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Tendrils of smoke carry her words.

‘Of course not.’ Gwen smiles stiffly. She stopped trying to influence Nora’s behaviour a long time ago. ‘Stay as long as you like.’

Nora gets to her feet. She whips the cigarette from her mouth and holds it away as she kisses Gwen’s cheek. ‘Thanks, darling.’ She tips her lips to Gwen’s ear. ‘Don’t wait up.’ She winks before plonking herself back down on young Adler’s lap. His arm belts her waist, securing her in position as she effortlessly insinuates herself back into the raucous conversation. Gwen decides to leave them to it.

By the time she rejoins her table, Tom is barely able to keep his eyes open. She curses herself for not having had the foresight to bring her bicycle – at least then she could have wheeled him home – but now she must either cajole him into walking or carry him.

‘Will you be all right?’ Muriel asks, concern edging her voice as she chivvies the exhausted boy off the seat.

‘We’ll be fine,’ Gwen assures her, taking Tom’s hand, but doubt settles in as he rests his full weight against her.

‘Here, I’m heading off myself, I’ll come with you.’ Ted tips back the dregs of his beer.

‘You don’t have to …’

‘No, no I need to be getting back.’