She’d tried to find a way to moderate her answer. ‘The rissoles were a touch too sloppy and a little bland,’ was how she’d phrased it. ‘But, besides all that, you did extremely well. The pudding was especially nice, I thought.’

‘Oh well, there you are, then.’ Joyce had rocked back in her chair. ‘I can still make it as a housewife, after all. I knew it.’

Charlie had said, ‘Now you’ve got to find a bloke who’ll marry you. Good luck.’

She’d been quite dismayed to hear him talk that way to his own sister. But, then again, she’d never had a brother. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

‘Stranger things have happened, mouse.’

‘Yeah? Like what?’

‘Well, take a look around you,’ Joyce had said. ‘Who’d have thought we’d end up here?’

‘True.’ Charlie had gulped down the water in his glass. ‘But there are miracles and there are miracles.’

‘Will you shut up now, please?’ his sister had replied, with so much fury bottled up inside her that it gave her a red tint from nose to neck. ‘Perhaps I’ll have a wander into town and see who takes my fancy. Bound to be someone whose eye I’d catch.’

At this, Arthur had stood up. ‘I should think we’ve all got better things to do this evening, no?’ He’d started gathering their plates. ‘Thank you very much for supper.’

When he’d left the room, Florence had regarded both the Savigears and sighed. She’d made the widest, most beseeching eyes that she could make. ‘You two need to settle down, and quickly.’

‘Sorry, Florence.’

‘Sorry, miss.’

While washing up the dishes – it was Arthur’s turn to scrub, her turn to dry – she told him that the tractor would be up and running by tomorrow. He didn’t seem too cheered at first, picking at the crusted bottom of a saucepan with his thumbnail, saying nothing. Then: ‘Running, as in moving?’

‘Yes, with a bit of luck.’

‘Well, that’s terrific.’ He rinsed the pan under the tap until the suds ran clear. ‘I’ll let Hollis know, first thing. How certain are you?’

‘I’ve only got to reconnect the gearbox, fill the oil again. If I manage that tonight, you might be ploughing by Tuesday. How soon can they deliver the manure?’

‘I’ll find out.’ Arthur leaned to kiss her cheek. ‘You cracked it, Flo. Well done, my love.’

‘Oh, don’t get too excited till you’re doing circuits in the fields.’

‘Straight lines up and down – that’s all we need.’

That night, she worked alone in the garage, because the Savigears were needed in the draughting room: Charlie had been given elevations from old projects to redraw and his sister had to finish off her bedroom sketches. Crouching underneath the tractor with the floodlight shining harshly into all its cavities, she refitted the gear housing, bolted it in place. She fetched the oil from the cupboard, checked the grade and funnelled in a fraction more than strictly recommended in the manual. It seemed to take no time at all, but when she looked up at the clock, an hour had passed already and she was much too tired – and much too wary of another failure – to crank the engine. In the morning, she would have more strength and more resolve. She pulled a sheet over the Fordson, shut the lights off and went inside to take a long soak in the tub.