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River. It was shallow at its banks but, according to village legends, deep enough in its slow-running centre that a heavily laden hay wain pulled by two horses had once fallen in and was never seen again. Nellie hoped one day to find the sunken cart.
    All year round she swam. In spring and summer, she pushed through clouds of midges and bobbing ducks. In winter, she broke the ice and dived in, coming up with mud on her nose, red mottled skin and an unexpected grin on her face. Rose had always disapproved. Only labourers, farm dogs and water rats swam in the river. Nellie could still remember teaching herself to swim as a child, Vivian standing on the riverbank, her hands holding tight the rope they’d tied around Nellie’s waist, ready to pull her out if she went under for too long.
    Up by the oak trees that same afternoon, Vivian stood watching Joe Ferier’s tent. She swayed back and forth, as if building momentum to set off across the field. He had probably forgotten Nellie altogether. He was camping by the river, minding his own business, and did not need a silly woman asking him if his intentions towards her sister were honourable. And how would sheexplain it to Nellie? She would be struck down with embarrassment.
This will not do
, she told herself.
    Joe Ferier was a handsome man. There was no denying that. One day he would marry and have handsome children with a wife who would fuss over them. But that wife would not be Nellie. Vivian turned round and hurried home, hoping nobody had seen her under the trees, wishing she had never thought to go there.
    In the hay fields on the other side of the river, Louisa Moats lay back in a flattened bed of grass. She felt the rough earth under her buttocks, the sun warming her face. A ladybird crawled onto her cheek and she let it, feeling the slight tickle of it. Rowley Livet, the village wheelwright, told her she was a fine woman but an expensive one. He held out a tightly woven gold straw hat with a band of white feathers that turned into small wings on the crown. Did she know how much it cost him? And his wife at home with milk fever wanting money to pay the doctor.
    ‘She doesn’t need the doctor. All she need do is soak a few cabbage leaves in milk and slap them on her titties,’ Louisa said. She took the hat, laid it carefully beside her and slung her arms around his neck. Could she bring herself to kiss this man who had breath like raw onions and a smell of turpentine in his hair? For a new bicycle she might. A nice black one with a basket. She fancied her pretty hat was just the thing to wear for bicycle riding.
    The wheelwright’s hands, dry as kilned oak, slid up her thigh. He would get her a bicycle. Anything for his darling Lou-Lou. Across the fields, Louisa saw a woman standing alone. She looked familiar.
    ‘Wait up,’ she said, pushing him away. What was Vivian Marsh doing? Then she saw what the woman was staring at. A brown tent by the river.
    Vivian Marsh, that mousy, shy little woman, was lovesick. She had fallen for the new farmhand. The one who gave himself airs. She’d seen him reading heavy-looking books in front of the othermen like he was educated or something. Louisa laughed. Two sisters after the same man? This would be interesting.
    ‘You all right?’ asked the wheelwright.
    ‘Never better. Right as a mailer, my love,’ she replied, and kissed him.
    Nellie climbed down into the water. She swam on her back, floating slowly with the current.
    ‘Who’s this?’ a voice called out. ‘Ophelia splashing in the reeds, is it? Or a mermaid come to enchant me?’
    Joe Ferier was sitting by his tent. He wore long johns and his hat, a needle and thread in his hand, darning a shirt.
    ‘I have your book,’ she said shyly. ‘The one on birds. I can go and get it. I left it on the bank.’
    He thanked her, took off his hat and said he thought he’d swim too if she didn’t mind sharing her river with him. Nellie turned away so he wouldn’t see her