Even when she was a child, Florence used to marvel at the way the farmhouse would appear behind the avenue of elms. Her parents used to lease the fields for grazing – throughout the year, the sheep and goats would nuzzle up against the fence and she would pet them, only to be chided for it later: ‘Those animals are other people’s property,’ her father would complain. ‘Walking meat is all they are to us. Don’t touch.’ This time, driving with the Savigears, she could only wish the land was in a healthier condition. ‘All of this has to be ploughed through and harrowed soon,’ she said to them, ‘and Mr Mayhood wants to cut back some of these old trees – they give a lot of shade, but they’re diseased. We’ll have to grade this road and do something about the driveway, which gets to be a nightmare when there’s a good amount of rain. And most of this is down to us, unless we can enlist some local volunteers.’

‘What are the chances of that?’ Joyce asked.

‘Low to none, I’d say. A lot of bridges have been burned already.’

‘Blimey.’

Charlie leaned into the space between their seats. ‘It’s a lot more normal than I thought it’d be – the house, I mean. I was expecting something, I don’t know, more modern.’

‘It’s nothing special from the outside, I’ll admit,’ she said. ‘We’ve got ideas for improvements, naturally, but we’ve been holding off on all those plans until you got here.’ This seemed to cheer them, the promise of participation in a grander scheme. Charlie leaned back, folding his arms, and Joyce gazed forward, saying, ‘It’s better than a boarding house in Hoxton, anyway. That’s where they put a girl I knew – and she was bleedin’ miserable.’

Charlie said, ‘There’s nothing like a bit of country air.’

‘I’m glad you see it that way.’

Passing by the north field, she took pleasure in its baldness – the dreaded weeds all plucked out by the roots and cleared away, leaving one vast patch of rain-struck soil, part-doused in sand. Mr Hollis was still out there, towing a handcart through the mud, but she couldn’t see her husband anywhere. She parked up before the garage, where the rusty tractor sat unmended in the gloom like something rescued from a ditch.

‘How long has that old thing been out of order?’ Charlie said.

‘About a decade, but I love a challenge. And we were given it for nothing.’

‘You were robbed.’

‘We’ll see about that, won’t we?’ After she turned off the engine, all that she could hear was the hens’ bickering. ‘Come on. Get your things. I’ll show you round.’

They went in through the front door, which was usually reserved for clients and visitors, but she thought the Savigears’ arrival should be lent a proper note of ceremony. If she could’ve smashed a champagne bottle on the wall to bless the house and all who lived in it, she would’ve done so. ‘Welcome home,’ she said instead. ‘It might not feel like it yet, but it will soon, I promise you.’