A year had passed since then, and quietly. They’d had a regular exchange of letters, phone calls, keeping him apprised of their eventless days and putting a fresh coat of gloss on all their problems so he wouldn’t notice their decline. Then he’d dropped the news into a letter, as though it were a minor detail of the view outside his window – I’ve started saving up for architecture school – and when they’d followed up with him by phone, he’d said, ‘I miss it. The ambition I used to have – it was the only thing that ever got me out of bed. You know exactly what I mean. It feels as though you have a higher calling, doesn’t it? The hours you put in every day are for a reason. You’re doing something bigger with your life. And even if I never make it, I can’t live without that feeling any more. It’s just too hard to go round thinking there’s no purpose to it all.’ He’d refused their money outright. There were scholarships he could put in for, and if he wasn’t granted any on the merits of his application, then it wasn’t meant to be; he’d scrape the funds together somehow, go to any school that would accept him. ‘I mean this, Florence,’ he’d said. ‘I appreciate your offer – everything you both have done for me – but this is something that I need to do myself.’ She’d understood, of course, though it had gone against her better instincts. How could she stand back and watch him struggle when she could’ve helped? If not financially, then with a word to someone up in Liverpool. It had felt like a desertion. Arthur hadn’t been so sure: ‘We can’t keep trying to atone for something that was not our fault. We have to listen to the lad, or else we will be doing wrong by him, and he might not forgive us for it.’ As the months went by, she’d wondered more about the situation. What if Charlie had refused their help for different reasons? What if he was trying to detach his name from theirs?

He took a seat beside her on the bench now, perching on the outer edge. The fellow on the roof was malleting the beams and each strike echoed in the horsehoe bend of trees surrounding them. ‘So why’ve you driven out here?’ Charlie said. ‘You didn’t even tell me you were coming.’ He stared hard at the lit end of his cigarette. ‘You’ve never visited before.’

‘I wanted to. We wanted to.’

‘How’s Mr Mayhood doing?’

‘You should phone and ask him.’

‘I will. How is he, though?’

‘Oh, he’s been better, I would say.’

‘Did you decide to lease the land again?’

‘No, we changed our mind on that. We’re growing sunflowers in the east field now.’

‘That’s good. And what about commissions?’

‘We’ve got bits and pieces coming in. It’s all surveying work, but it’s been keeping us afloat.’