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trace of Bessie. Strands of blonde hair. The smell of her perfume. One of her combs. He rescued the dirty sheets from the nesting box, then had to wash them to remove the smell of chickens. They ended up a uniform grey but gave no other clues that they’d been off the bed for seven weeks.
    The tidiness of the shack was the first thing Elsie noticed. ‘Did you do this for me?’ she asked. She looked pleased.
    ‘I wanted it to look nice for you, Else. It was a bit mucky the last time you came.’
    ‘It didn’t matter. I know how hard you have to work, lovey. I’ll keep it spick and span when I’m living here all the time.’
    He changed the subject abruptly. ‘How are your parents?’
    ‘The same.’ She frowned. ‘Mrs Cosham said she was surprised to see me. That’s a bit strange, don’t you think? I booked the room ages ago.’
    Norman turned away to put the kettle on the stove.
    ‘She asked me if we were still engaged. Why would she say that, pet?’
    He gave an attempt at a shrug. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she’s wondering why you haven’t been down so much this year.’
    ‘Did you tell her about my nerves? Does she know I’m on tablets?’
    ‘No.’
    She sank on to the bed. ‘That’s good. I’m not going to take them any more. I hate feeling drowsy all the time.’
    ‘But if they’re making you better—’
    ‘It’s you that makes me better, Norman. Do you remember last summer? It was all so perfect. Just you and me in our own little house.’
    ‘That was the year before,’ he told her. ‘Last year was when you got the sack . . . and your brother and sister were married.’
    ‘We made love all the time, pet. You can’t have forgotten.’
    ‘It was only kissing and cuddling. It’s not as if we had sex.’
    She stared at him. ‘We did have sex, Norman. You nearly got me pregnant.’
    Norman frowned at her. ‘A bloke can’t nearly get a girl pregnant, Else. Either he does or he doesn’t. In any case, we never came close to making babies. You refused to do it until after the wedding.’
    ‘That’s not true.’
    He shrugged. ‘You thought if I wanted sex that badly I’d marry you just to get it.’
    She looked confused suddenly. ‘You’re lying.’
    ‘You know I’m not,’ he told her. ‘I don’t say I wouldn’t have liked it, but—’ Another shrug as he moved towards the door. ‘The best summer was before we were engaged. You were pretty happy then. Do you want to make the tea? I’ve things to do outside.’

    Elsie took all the wrong messages from Norman’s efforts to keep her out of sight. She thought it was eagerness that made him collect her from the Coshams before the sun came up. And passion that kept her in the shack until well after dark. Even his sudden use of ‘pet’, ‘lovey’ and ‘sweetheart’ didn’t rouse her suspicions.
    ‘We can’t go into town today, pet . . .’ ‘Stay inside, lovey. I can’t bear to think of you getting your hands dirty . . .’ ‘It’s a real holiday having you cook for me, sweetheart . . .’
    Norman knew he was being cruel but he blamed Elsie for it. If she’d been halfway normal, he wouldn’t have fallen out of love with her. She should have taken his hints and left long ago. How was a chap supposed to behave when he’d made a promise that he didn’t want to keep?
    With any other girl he could have said: ‘It hasn’t worked . . . No hard feelings . . . Let’s go our separate ways . . .’
    With Elsie it would turn into the world’s greatest drama. ‘You’ve broken my heart . . . I’m going to kill myself . . . I want to die . . .’

    The idea had formed in his mind that the easiest way to be shot of Elsie was to marry Bessie. Once he was wed, Elsie would have to leave him alone. His plan was to write her a letter the day after the wedding.

Dear Elsie,
Yesterday I married a girl called Bessie Coldicott. She is now Mrs Thorne. I’m sorry to break it to you like this but I knew you’d create a scene if I told