‘I think you’re incredibly brave,’ Dylan tells her. When she smiles and shakes her head he adds, ‘to move here at all. Uncle Illtyd told me, about your husband. How he died.’ A thought strikes him and he smacks his own forehead with his hand. ‘God, I am so stupid! The Landrover … is that why you were so reluctant? He, Mat, my uncle said it was a car accident. Tilda I’m so sorry, I’m such a fool.’

‘No, you’re not. Honestly, I have to be able to get into a car. It’s ridiculous otherwise…’

‘And it’s why you don’t drive? Why you don’t have a car?’

She nods. ‘Pathetic, I know.’

‘You are certainly not that! Like I said, I think you’re really brave, to come and live here on your own. After … after what you went through. It must be tough. You must miss him.’

Tilda does not trust herself to reply without crying.

As if sensing that her grief might overwhelm her, Dylan gets to his feet. ‘Come along,’ he says, ‘we’ve got too much to do to sit around here.’ He takes Tilda’s mug gently from her.

‘We have?’

‘Yup.’ He heads for the door. ‘We’ve got a kiln to build.’