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Will slides off his seat, like Horse’s shadow, and follows us towards the farmhouse. Inside it’s lovely and warm. Soon Lara joins us too, Dinky following her in for what has become a regular treat of toast.

‘So, I’ve got a recipe we can make – should be simple,’ says Horse. ‘The more of us there are, the quicker we should get it done?’

‘Another one?’

He nods.

‘It’s from the Hairy Bikers. I bought their book. Want to give it a go?’

Will nods.

‘It’s a chicken curry.’ Horse pulls out the book of Hairy Bikers curries from his rucksack and puts it on the table, opening it at a page with the corner turned down.

‘Okay, coats off and wash our hands,’ I say.

‘Yes, Mum,’ says Horse, making Will and me laugh.

We all lean in to wash our hands at the sink, Horse standing a little behind and above me and Will like a big tree, his long arms like branches reaching round us. I think about how the branches of taller trees encircle the younger, smaller ones in the forest, protecting them. That’s how I feel right now: us bigger, older ones looking after the smaller one.

‘Will,’ says Horse as we dry our hands on a clean towel from the rail on the Aga. ‘How about Gwen and I get the pans out, and you read out the ingredients?’

He pushes the book towards Will. Will sits there, staring at the picture.

‘This any good?’ I say, pulling one pan out.

‘Yup, looks good,’ he says, and I bend and pull out another of my thick cast-iron pots. Some of these haven’t been used in a long time.

‘Right, you chop and I’ll cook; how’s that?’ asks Horse. ‘Or would you prefer it the other way round?’

I smile. ‘It’s fine, I’m happy chopping.’

‘Okay, I’ll get the oil going in the pan. You start with the onions.’

‘It all starts with the onions,’ we both say, and laugh; this is what Nadiya always tells us. I turn to Will, expecting him to share in the joke. But he’s not laughing. He’s staring at the recipe book.

‘Will?’ I say. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Probably hungry from a day outside. Come on Will, lad, tell us the ingredients! Let’s get cooking!’ Horse chivvies him along. ‘How many onions?’ he asks. But Will doesn’t move. ‘Will,’ he laughs, ‘come on, just read it out!’

‘The suspense is killing me!’ I laugh too, loving the banter in the kitchen.

Will abruptly tosses the book over on the table and pushes back his chair. The chair falls back, making Dinky jump and Tegan bark wildly. Will stumbles backwards but rights himself.

‘Will?’ I say, dropping the onion and knife on the butcher’s block and hurrying towards him.

But he swerves me and runs to the door and out, slamming it on his way.

‘I’ll go,’ says Lara, closest to the door, and follows him.

‘He’ll be heading for the big tree – Paddy’s tree.’ A lump catches in my throat. ‘By Ty Coed,’ I shout after her. And then more quietly, almost to myself, I say, ‘It seems to be where he goes a lot of the time.’

Silence falls in the kitchen. After a few moments it’s broken by Horse slapping his hand against his forehead.

‘Damn! Stupid me!’ he says, leaning against the butcher’s block, his big shoulders rounded. I look at him, and he looks up to meet my eyes.

‘He can’t read very well, can he?’ he says.

I sigh. ‘I don’t think he can, no.’