‘It was unfair of me to expect you to. When Ted and Dad set their minds to something … their hearts are so bruised, you see. I suppose sometimes they just need to … numb the pain.’ She has started to shiver. She rubs her hands up and down her goosefleshed arms. ‘Oh, my stole!’

Jack hits the brakes, bringing the car to a stop. The headlights catch on the open edges of the entrance gates.

‘We can go back.’

‘No … no … I’ll collect it tomorrow. Let’s just get Dad home.’

‘Here …’ Releasing the wheel, he shrugs off his jacket. ‘Take this.’

‘Are you sure?’

Gwen leans forward, allowing him to drape it around her shoulders. She smiles as she gathers it close.

‘Thank you, Jack.’

They drive in silence the rest of the way, though Jim continues to snore on the back seat. Jack parks the car outside the farmhouse.

‘You go and open up. I’ll bring him in,’ he says.

As Gwen delicately picks her way across the yard to the steps, he yanks open the rear door. Jim mutters in his drink-sodden sleep and offers a meek protest as Jack manoeuvres him from the car and hauls him upright. He positions Jim’s arm over his shoulder and kicks the door shut before lugging him up the steps. Kip appears, tail wagging drowsily, but Jack sends him back to his bed with a gentle word.

By the time he has got Jim up the steps and along the path there is light from the kitchen window and the back door hangs open.

‘Can I help?’ Gwen asks, hovering on the threshold.

‘No, just lead the way. I’ll get him up to bed for you.’

He follows her into the darkened hall, half-walking, half-dragging the semi-conscious farmer. He jiggles him awake enough to help him manage the stairs, though Jack is forced to grab the bannister to prevent them both toppling backwards. Gwen leads him into the end bedroom, hurrying forward to pull back the bedcovers. Jim collapses onto the mattress the moment Jack releases him. He mumbles incoherently as Jack pulls off his shoes, then rolls onto his side and falls silent once more. Gwen draws the covers up.

‘He can sleep like that – it won’t hurt him,’ she whispers, extinguishing the paraffin lamp on the bedside table.

Jack retraces his steps to the kitchen, the soft swish of Gwen’s velvet dress following behind.

‘Oh, you’d better take this,’ she says, shucking off his jacket as they reach the back door.

‘Will you be all right?’ he asks, taking it from her.

‘I’ll be just fine. I dare say Dad will have a sore head in the morning.’ She musters a smile.

‘Aye, I reckon you’re right about that.’

She puts her hand on the door as he slips on his coat.

‘Thank you, Jack, for everything.’