‘A few parts and a bit of grease – ta-da – it’s up and running.’

‘Simple as that.’ She smiled.

‘Simple as that,’ he said.

It was curious how young she felt sometimes in Charlie’s presence. There were moments when she caught herself adopting the complaining attitude she used to have when she was seventeen: ‘This old pile of rubbish better be worth it … Makes no difference, anyway: something else is bound to break before too long …’ At other times, she felt so elevated by her sense of duty that she began intoning like a reverend at the pulpit, stressing the importance of old tractors like the Fordson (‘the majestic Model N’, she called it) and even veering into stories about girls she knew who’d served in the Land Army. She couldn’t understand why she was stumbling so much in pursuit of his respect. Had she always been this eager to be liked?

That hour seemed to stretch and slide away. They stood together at the workbench reassembling the entire transmission, talking only in relation to the job at hand. Charlie passed her tools when she requested them, applied his brute strength to the worm gear with a mallet when she asked him to, but mostly he stayed next to her, recounting the procedure from her notebook, squinting when he couldn’t read her cursive. ‘What does that say – level or bevel?’ At a certain point, he put the book down on the bench, and she could feel the sudden press of his attention. ‘Miss,’ he said, ‘there’s something I’ve been wanting to bring up with you.’

She kept her eyes on the components. ‘Oh?’

‘It’s just that … look, d’you remember when you picked us up that morning from the train? My sister had a dig at me for – well, she said that I could get an engine running even if I wasn’t meant to.’

‘I remember.’

He was playing with the lever on the vice, making it clink up and down. ‘I didn’t want you wondering about her meaning on that front. It only happened once.’

‘All right.’ She wiped her brow upon her sleeve. ‘Which part goes next? This little one?’

‘Miss, do you understand what I’ve been trying to –’

‘I just said it was all right.’ She always seemed to sweat more at the peak of concentration than she ever did when scrubbing floors, or chasing hens around the yard, or scraping paint off walls. It was peculiar. The hair beneath her kirby grips was wet and frazzled, and she felt the need to reposition them, but her hands were black with oil. Charlie went on clattering the vice, until she reached to grab the lever and he stepped away. ‘You needn’t fret,’ she said. ‘We know what you did wrong and, frankly, it’s of no concern to us.’ She couldn’t tell from his long exhalation whether he was troubled or relieved.

‘How? I mean, who told you?’

‘Well, for a start, we asked for copies of your borstal records and they sent us what they could. Then Mr Mayhood spoke with all the officers who knew you, and both your old housemasters – even had the top brass calling him. The governors. So, if you’re looking to feel guilty about something, you should see our phone bills.’ This almost brought a flicker of a smile to Charlie’s face. She went on: ‘Honestly, we’ve never worried about what happened in the past. The only thing we care about is what’s ahead of you.’