‘If it wasn’t for Luke Winters’ quick thinking, Sylvia would have been yet one more needless life lost, on the back of decades of pig-headedness.’

A ripple of indignation rumbled through both sides. Some shook their heads angrily.

‘It’s true!’ Alice waved her free arm in frustration. ‘I’m not talking about what happened back then. I know I can’t speak on the hardship that you older ones went through. I only need to look in my nan’s eyes to know I can’t ever understand. But for each one of you who share in that suffering, surely you should be the first to stand up and say enough! A good woman nearly died in my garden today. Who here thinks that Sylvia’s life would have been worth it?’

Alice let the microphone drop to her side, her chest heaving as the adrenaline started to take hold. The only sound was ducks quacking as they zipped through the water between us, indifferent to the momentous developments unfolding either side of them.

There was a stirring in the crowd by the far side of the river as it parted to allow someone to pass. An older woman wearing a buttoned-up beige raincoat shuffled to the water’s edge. Stooped over, her face depicting a wrinkled map of tribulation, she took a moment to survey the crowd.

‘That’s Caris Smith,’ Daniel whispered in my ear. ‘Her husband drowned after the New Siders knocked him into the river when he barred their way during the strike. She had five small children, and one of them died of an overdose at nineteen.’

Caris Smith waited a moment longer. The tension grew, forming a tangible bridge of its own.

‘You all know what I been through. Who I lost.’ Despite her frail stature, the words breached the gap with piercing clarity. ‘I got every reason to hate. To demand that bridge stays as destroyed as my life has been, that you ain’t got no right to set one foot over here. But it won’t bring my William back. It won’t save my son. But it might save our village if we decide to stop this, now! Ferrington is withering away all around us and we don’t even see it any more, how weak and rotten it’s got. But this stranger – her – she saw it. She was brave enough to say it.

‘For goodness’ sake. For all our sakes. For the sake of William and Richie and wee Janey Thomson. The Wright twins, Trevor Brown and everyone else who can’t be here to say it – we need to say enough. It’s time to start again. To let go of this damn feud. To build a bloody bridge. Here.’ She pulled a small brown purse from her coat pocket, opening it up with trembling hands and taking out a note, which she held aloft. ‘Here’s my contribution to the new bridge fund.’

Gavin from the Old Boat House ducked forwards and held out a beer tankard for her to drop it into.