Treve Byghan closes the barn door and sighs, then trudges across the yard to where the tractor is parked. He leaves the keys in the ignition for John to find later. ‘You’ve been a good ‘un, old girl,’ he says as his large farmer’s hand caresses the engine’s snub nose. A distant sound of music reaches him from across the fields. The summer fair must be getting under way: Sheila used to take her handicrafts along. She loved the fun of it all, and meeting everyone.

The collie at his side follows every movement. ‘I’m tired, Jess,’ he says. ‘Time to pack it in. You wait here now. John’ll look after you.’ Jess licks his hand, gazing up at him, and wags her tail uncertainly. ‘C’mon then, good dog.’ The collie jumps into the trailer and crouches. ‘Stay,’ says Treve.

Through misted eyes he looks across the land he has loved for so long: the high pastures where the gulls follow the plough and you can see as far as the lighthouse; the field margins where snowdrops and blackthorn tell you spring is on the way, and the hedges where Sheila took the boys blackberrying. 

Clouds are gathering in the west. ‘Wouldn’t be surprised if it rains.’ Slowly, he crosses the yard and shuts the gate. 

Chapter 1