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work.’
    The sandwiches proved unwanted by almost everybody when Roddy did a dutiful circuit of the living room, so he took them back to the kitchen virtually untouched.
    ‘Silly sods,’ said Hetty. ‘Food for free, this be.’ Alongside her role as information exchange between a small network of villages, Hetty also acted as the focal point for a complex bartering system, so that nothing was ever wasted. Outgrown clothes, surplus plants or animals, second-hand tools and equipment – Hetty always knew someone who was looking for the very thing. She eyed the plates as if trying to remember just who had asked her to watch out for the cheese and tomato in granary, or ham and cucumber without crusts.
    ‘Phoebe!’ she said suddenly. ‘Her’s been poorly and missed work for nearly a month.’ She looked hard at Lilah, and then back at the sandwiches.
    ‘Oh yes, take them,’ said the girl. ‘I didn’t know Phoebe wasn’t well. I haven’t seen her for ages.’
    Back in the living room, Lilah realised that more people were on the verge of leaving. Once the momentum got going there was a barely dignified scramble for the door and within minutes, there were just Sam, Roddy, Miranda and Hetty left.
    ‘Mum, I told Hetty she could take some leftovers for Phoebe Winnicombe. She’s poorly, apparently, and if she doesn’t work she doesn’t get any money. That’s all right, isn’t it?’
    ‘Fine,’ said Miranda vaguely. Lilah wasn’t even sure she’d registered who she was talking about. She smiled at Hetty and was rewarded by seeing her tip almost every morsel of uneaten food on to a tray, to be covered in cling film. Lucky Phoebe , she thought grimly.
     
    ‘Uncle Martin’s nice,’ she commented later, to her mother and brother. ‘Did you know that Dad left home at sixteen, and didn’t go back for years and years?’
    ‘That was a long time ago. He was thirty-six when I met him. It was ancient history by then.’
    ‘Funny how you never think much about people’spasts when they’re alive, and then as soon as they die, you wish you’d known all sorts of things about them.’
    ‘It makes sense, if you think about it,’ said Miranda. ‘It’s easier to hold onto the memory of them if you know as much as you can. It makes them more real.’ Lilah was impressed, but she tried not to show it.
    ‘Well I’m off to help Sam and Roddy. See you later.’
    Miranda sighed. ‘Busy, busy,’ she commented. ‘I can’t wait until we sell this bloody place.’
    Lilah stood rigid, turned to stone by her mother’s words. ‘What?’ she whispered. ‘What did you say?’
    ‘Well, we can’t keep it up without Guy, can we? Surely you realise that. It was almost the first thing I thought, when you told me he was dead. Now I can get away from this wretched shitty hole, and live somewhere civilised. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but it happens to be true.’
    Lilah realised her mother had been drinking, but that wasn’t enough to negate her words. Possessed with rage, she could hardly speak.
    ‘We are never never going to sell the farm,’ she shouted. ‘It’s my inheritance, and Roddy’s. It’s our home .’ Without waiting for a reply, she swung out of the door and crossed the yard erratically, shaking almost as much as on the morning thatGuy died. She knew she was on the verge of war with her mother, and was determined to battle to keep Redstone going, whatever might happen.
    Nothing more was said on the subject that day. They all went to bed very early, drained by the emotion of the day and knowing the business of the farm had to be tackled first thing next morning, and every morning while they remained at Redstone. Lilah thought of the naughty little boy she’d been told about and wondered bleakly for a moment about the passage of time and death and whether any of it meant anything.
     
    They woke next morning to a steady drizzle, which cast a sullen gloom over everything from the first moment they opened