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grease, and washed it down with the soft drink, some sort of orangeade that was mostly sugar and water. Then I walked back to Sheepheaven Farm where I found Robbie in the farmyard changing a tire on the Land Rover, cursing the frozen lug nuts.
    “Fucking piece of shit!” He noticed me and said, “Sorry about that, Jack. Local dialect.”
    “I’ve heard it before. You do it very well.”
    He stood, wiping his hands on the legs of his trousers. “What exciting things did you find to do in this country backwater?”
    “Not much, I’m afraid. I wrote a bit this morning, went for a walk, had a plastic sausage roll from the post office store.”
    “Oh shit, Jack, you should have asked Maggie to make you a sandwich.”
    “She went off for a walk. I didn’t want to bother her.”
    “So you’ll be staying the night? Having supper with us?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Would you do me a favor?”
    “If I can.”
    “Would you steady my shoulders? I’m going to stand on the lug wrench and see if I can’t jar this fucker loose.” He put one foot on the arm of the wrench, raised up the other foot and as he balanced on the arm of the wrench I reached out to steady his shoulders. I could feel the muscles beneath his jacket, and his wiry shoulders, and I thought how hard he was compared to my own soft body and I suddenly envied him, his age, his handsome face, his dark hair and beard, the energy that seemed to emanate from his body. He raised himself and brought his weight down hard on the wrench, rose and repeated the motion and there was a crack as the nut came loose.
    “You’re a good man, Jack,” he said. “I owe you a pint for that one.”
    I watched while he finished changing the tire and then followed him into the house where he washed his hands in the kitchen sink only to be interrupted by Maggie who came into the kitchen and said sharply, “How many times have I told you that you wash up somewhere else! Not in my kitchen sink!”
    “Sorry, love,” he said, wiping his hands on his trouser legs.
    “Jesus, Robbie, you’re worse than a child!”
    “Come on, love,” he said, approaching her, but she turned and rose on her toes to pull something from the cupboard.
    “I’ve been properly rebuked, Jack,” Robbie said with a grin.
    Supper that evening was quiet, and I felt as if there were some sort of undercurrent running through the house, some disquietude I had not noticed before. I went up to the room early, leaving Robbie in front of the telly and Maggie clearing up the kitchen. I tried to write but it was no good and I turned out the light and lay on the bed listening to the noises of the house, the faint chatter of the television, and later the footsteps as they came up the stairs, Terry’s voice as he said good night mum, good night dad, and the ticking of the dog’s claws on the stairs as it went back down to the kitchen.
    I slept badly, waking often. Once I turned on the light, tried to write, but again no words came. I finally got up when it began to grow light, went down to the silent kitchen. I thought about making myself a cup of tea but decided I might make noise that would wake them and instead put on my coat and went out into the farmyard. It was cold, wet, water dripping from the eaves, the bleating of sheep somewhere, and the trees on the far side of the field were indistinct, hazy. I walked along the road for a while. Somewhere there were doves waking in the trees. When I came back, Maggie was in the kitchen, it was warm and she wordlessly set a cup of tea on the table.
    “For me?” I asked.
    “You look like you need it,” she said. “And where were you walking to at this hour of the morning?”
    “No place in particular.”
    “I came down just in time to see you go across the field,” she said. “I almost went after you. Would you have minded the company?”
    “Not at all. I wish you had.”
    “Perhaps later, we’ll take a proper walk before you go,” she said.
    She busied herself