Alice waited in the car while I nipped in for the bananas, and this time I noticed the glances from other customers as I whizzed round, choosing the self-checkout to avoid an interrogation by the glowering older woman behind the till.

‘So, were your family miners?’ I asked as she drove us back to the farm, fascinated by this woeful tale of a village split in two.

‘My dad was nineteen. He kept working because he wanted to marry my mum. His dad mined too, of course. My uncle had three kids, one with cystic fibrosis, so he kept working. Mum’s dad had retired with bad lungs, so that was another reason for Dad to keep earning, to help her family out. It wasn’t that they didn’t sympathise, or get why people did strike, but they never believed it would work. And turned out they were right.’

‘So in the end the strikers did it all for nothing?’

‘Yep.’

‘And Jase, is he your husband?’

Alice shrugged. ‘We moved in together a few months ago. To be honest, it was a rush decision and if he doesn’t pull his finger out soon I’ll be reconsidering. Only problem is, working in the Water Boatman doesn’t make nearly enough to get my own place, and however much I love her, and everyone who knows me knows I do, I can’t face going back to sharing a bedroom with my Nana.’

‘You what?’

And right there I had made myself a new friend.

11

I arrived back at the farmhouse just after five. Alice had dropped me off at the end of the lane, leaving us to enjoy the last few minutes of daylight as I bumped Hope’s pushchair the short distance up to the yard. Daniel’s Jeep was parked in its usual place, and the cosy glow of lights from the hallway welcomed us back. Unclipping Hope and shrugging her out of the orange snowsuit, I expected Daniel to appear any second – or at least to call hello. Instead, I found him in the study. He was stretched out across the sofa, top two shirt buttons open to reveal a smattering of chest hair, one shoe kicked off, the other still dangling precariously from the end of his foot. One arm splayed out into open space, he looked as though he’d fallen asleep mid-air. His features had softened in sleep, the pucker between his brows smoothed out and his mouth carrying the hint of a smile. I could see Charlie there, only, perhaps Charlie on a bad day. His complexion was stark against unruly dark hair, the shadows from the sidelamp emphasising hollows beneath his cheekbones. He looked like a man with seven months’ worth of sleep to catch up on.

It was nearly nine by the time he appeared, skidding into the kitchen in his socks, hair gloriously dishevelled, one side of his shirt hanging out.

‘Eleanor! Hi!’ His scrunched-up eyes darted around the kitchen.

‘She’s out for the count,’ I replied, unable to keep from smiling.