‘Let’s have it.’ He smiles. ‘You’ve been trying to say something since we got here.’

She laughs lightly. ‘Yes, yes I suppose I have. I was just wondering … there’s a dance on next Saturday. Would you want to go?’

‘A dance? Are you asking me to a dance?’ he blurts out, unable to contain his surprise.

‘I’m just asking if you’d like to go.’

‘Aye,’ he says quickly. His smile is broad. He feels strangely lightheaded. ‘Aye, I’d like that. Very much.’

‘Good!’ She twists the hoe in the soil. ‘Perfect,’ she says, more to herself than to him.

There is a bounce in Jack’s step as they return to the farm for lunch. At the table, Gwen raises the subject of the dance with her father.

‘The one at Hawbury village hall? You can go, the two of you, I don’t see why not.’

Gwen springs up to press a kiss on her father’s cheek. Jack is pleased to see her so happy, but his pleasure is overshadowed by a sudden recollection of Jenny dancing into the parlour one evening, her spirits high, her colour up, as she twirled away from his curious enquiries as to where she had been.

When Gwen leaves to use the privy, he leans over the table and speaks to Jim. His voice is shy and halting as he confesses he has nothing suitable to wear for a night out. He asks for an advance on his wages.

‘Ah, lad, don’t waste your money on clothes you’ll hardly wear,’ the farmer scoffs. He calls for Muriel. She has been grading eggs in the larder and emerges with an egg tray in her hands and a quizzical look on her face. ‘My old suits, Muriel,’ the farmer says. ‘Can you look one out for the lad? A shirt and tie too?’

‘I should think so. There’s some in mothballs in the spare room wardrobe that I’m guessing you’ve not had on your back for years.’ She peruses Jack, her eyes narrowing as she sizes him up. ‘They should fit.’

When she returns to the larder, Jack thanks the farmer.

‘There’s one other favour I have to ask,’ he says as he rises from the table. ‘I see there’s some pine logs in the back of the barn. Would you mind if I took one, just a small one, like?’

‘Lad, help yourself. There’s plenty of beech in the store. They’re better for the stove.’

‘I don’t want it for burning,’ Jack says, but he offers the farmer no further explanation as he bids him farewell and returns to his chores.