Meanwhile, her kid brother was all industry and no results. For every dozen fork-loads of manure the boy had spread, there must’ve been eleven that were left an inch too thick and Hollis had to go back over them himself to get them evened out. It wasn’t that the boy had an aversion to instructions – Charlie listened well, you had to give him that. No, it was more that he was simply useless with a rake.

When he’d mentioned all of this to Mr Mayhood afterwards, he’d got the normal level-headed answer: ‘Surely you remember how it was when you were discharged from the army? All those orders you’d been taking every minute, all that yes sir no sir. Once the war ends, your routine ends too. It’s back to civvy life again and it feels strange. Well, it’s the same for them. It takes some getting used to. As do you, it must be said. They’re still adjusting.’ Hollis hadn’t cared much for that verdict, so he’d tried again with Florence, just to get a measure of her own mood on the subject. This was Monday morning, right before they’d gone to buy the rye seed. He’d popped his head into the kitchen about six o’clock and, bless her heart, she’d fried him up an egg and let him eat it at the kitchen table while she swept the floor and wiped the range. He did enjoy the sight of her, he couldn’t lie.

‘Exactly how much of this seed will be enough?’ she’d asked.

‘I’d say we need about a bushel and a half per acre,’ he’d replied. ‘Shouldn’t be too dear. We’ll have to clean it, mind.’

‘Does that take long?’

‘Depends how fast it can be winnowed. The old-fashioned ways are best.’

‘Just show us what to do …’

‘It won’t be easy teaching those two.’

‘Oh. Why’s that?’

‘Well, it’s a job that takes a bit of grace and patience. So there’s no point asking Tweedledum and Tweedledee. You’ll end up picking seeds out of your yard for months.’

‘Don’t call them that,’ she’d said, her tone not far from scolding. ‘Please. It isn’t kind or fair, and Mr Mayhood wouldn’t like it either.’

‘Just a joke,’ he’d answered.

Later, as they’d walked the long way round towards their neighbour’s farmhouse with the drizzle in their faces, he’d said, ‘Look, I know I can be hard to please. But that girl’s bugging me. She’s not the type you can rely on in the fields. Her brother’s not too bad, might get there in the end, but her? No chance.’

‘It’s early days,’ she’d said. ‘They’re learning as they go.’

‘I’m speaking of her attitude. Her mind’s not on the job.’

‘Not everyone is suited to the outdoor life, at first. Including me. She’ll come around eventually, I know she will.’

‘Let’s hope you’re right.’ He could admit they hadn’t been there very long and there might still be duties they could handle better: basic yardwork, for example. Mucking out the chicken sheds, that sort of thing. ‘But up till now, the signs aren’t good. I reckon you could give the village idiot a pitchfork and he’d do a decent job of spreading your manure. At least he’d put a proper shift in.’