When Peg reached the haven of Brigg Farm, feeling such relief to be away from that sad place, she sat down and began to unravel some old wool, found a pair of needles from the mending basket, looked out a pattern and cast on the stitches, smiling. No more lacy bonnets for the lad, he was going to have a proper blue tammy with a bobble on the top with ear flaps tied under his chin to keep out the chill April wind. Thank goodness Netta had made such thorough preparations. She would ask around the district for the loan of a decent pram which she would put under the apple tree in the spring shade.

The telephone rang in the hall passage. The bairn stirred but it was Angus who answered the phone. He stood nodding in the doorway, holding on to the lintel, his face drawn and ashen.

‘What now? Not Netta? Is it bad news?’

‘Bad enough… I didna want to worry you but I went down to register the bairn as we agreed while you were at the hospital. I didna have the right stuff, certificates and such. I told them what I knew about the wedding and the father’s name and him being killed and the mother very ill. Allan Laing accepted me as next-of-kin and said he could make enquiries for the details under these special circumstances.’

‘So what’s the bother?’

‘They cannae find her marriages lines. There was no Hunter wedding there on that Saturday or any other day that month.’

‘You’ve got the wrong dates then or the wrong place.’ Peg could feel her heart thumping.

Angus shook his head. ‘They checked. It’s no registered anywhere in Scotland.’

‘Oh, dear God! That can’t be right, surely? She has to be married or else…’

‘Aye, if she’s not then our grandson’s a bastard.’

May 1949, Saturday Morning

The holiday was over. It was time for Netta to return to Yorkshire. Time to pack up the van, to make a flask and sandwiches for the long journey, look out the AA map, pump up the tyres, check the indicators were working and say her farewells. She hated this moment above all others, seeing the look of relief on Peg’s face as she shoved a package on to the passenger seat.

‘I think these’s what yer looking for. Safe journey.’

‘Mind and stop when you get tired, Netta, and keep the radiator topped up. I’ve put a bottle of water in the boot,’ said Father, sucking on an empty pipe. Gus was jumping up and down, waving. His fist was clenched tight around the half crown she had shoved secretly into his palm when he’d told her his throat was hurting. “’Bye, Auntie Netta!’