The trek up the lane took it out of Wee Alec Kerr’s stubby legs for he was now the wrong side of sixty, but he was always turned out in a dapper tweed suit, his iron-grey hair still thick with Brylcreem and sporting a trimmed moustache. Then would come the vain search for Angus in the cobbled yard to get him measured up for a new tweed jacket. His old one was not fit to be seen at the cattle market. Peg knew that getting him to open his wallet would take weeks of nagging, cajoling and downright deceit. His natural parsimony made wartime make do and mend seem like profligacy. Try as she might this district worthy shuffled about his work dressed in oilskin coats tied up with twine around the waist, patched trousers and shirts, more holey than godly, and a greasy cap which shone like leather.

Peg boiled with shame at the sight of him for they were not poor tenants. Brigg Farm was one of the finest dairies in the Stewartry, its herd of brown and white Ayrshires, the envy of many in the district. They supplied butter, cream and milk to the best creamery in the South of Scotland. Was not her front parlour stuffed with solid oak cupboards, adorned with silver and brassware? So why her husband needed to go round threadbare was beyond anyone’s ken.

There was much about Angus she could never fathom out; that stubborn streak of Kyle stock, kindness itself to strangers but a gey strange manner of showing affection to his own kin. Sometimes it was as if he begrudged his own breath. The shock of Jean Kirkpatrick’s untimely death still burned like acid within him, eroding any spark of outward warmth at times. Peg knew he would not be coming to greet Alec but went through the motions as usual then trundled upstairs for his old jacket.

‘Here, can you match the colours in yon swatch with this, measure up the length of it and bring me one made up next time? If I hang it to air on the range, waft it in the byre a wee bitty, he’ll no notice the difference. I’ve enough coupons put by and the hens are doing well. You can give me the bill this time.’ Peg sat down, exasperated, and sipped her cooling tea.

‘I saw young Netta on her way down the hill giving it great licks. She looks fine enough considering she’s no far to find her sorrow,’ said Alec, searching for his tape measure and a swatch of tweed to match up with the jacket.