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‘I'd be careful if I were you, Chris,' Murray says. ‘I saw him in action last night and he's pretty quick. He can do one in less than a minute.'

‘It's about stamina and skill as well as speed, though. Come on, Murray, what are you waiting for? Let's get this party started.'

‘All in good time,' Murray says. ‘Go and get yourselves ready, but wait until I give the order to start.'

I watch Lewis enter the pen at the rear of the platform, pick up one of the ewes and carry her to his station, striding along with ease, even though she must weigh all of ninety kilos.

‘He's fitter than ever,' whispers Emily, who's perched on one of the steps giving Daisy a bottle. ‘I'm putting my money on Lewis.'

Chris wipes one hand on the fleece as he and Lewis wait poised for Murray to start the competition with their sheep in front of them, caught between their legs so they're facing towards us.

‘Three, two, one, go,' Murray says with a flourish, and they're off, the rays of the afternoon sun glancing off the clippers as Lewis shears the wool from the sheep's brisket, belly and front legs, before moving her so he can clear the hind leg and head of the tail. The fleece starts to fall away from the skin when he takes the ewe's head and swings his legs around her, moving the clippers along her neck to her chin.

I glance towards Chris. There's nothing between them. They're neck and neck, so to speak. People begin to cheer them on. I'm gripping my hands together,
willing Lewis to win. He moves on to the second ewe and begins to advance on Chris, until the ewe starts to kick out and fidget, slowing him down again.

‘Oh, that isn't fair,' I murmur.

‘I expect she's ticklish,' Emily says as the ewe starts to quieten down. Lewis makes up lost time with the next one, overtaking Chris, and finally he finishes with ten seconds in hand to the applause of the crowd.

Chris is a gracious loser, stepping forwards to shake Lewis's hand.

Murray is smiling. ‘You're beginning to show your age.'

‘Maybe it's time to step aside and let the young ones win,' Chris says ruefully.

‘I'll be back to defend my title next year. You can be sure of that.' Lewis jumps the rail down from the platform with one lithe movement and jogs up to me.

‘Hello, Zara.' He smiles apprehensively. I don't know how to react, but Frosty has no inhibitions. She's all over him, squealing and barking with delight. He gives her a quick rub before turning back to me. ‘What did you think?'

‘That was sick,' I say, as in ‘brilliant', like the spark in his eyes as he picks me up and hugs me.

‘Hey, put me down.' I kick my legs and push against his arms. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Sweeping you off your feet, I hope . . .' He grins as he places me back on the ground. My knees are weak, my resolve like jelly. ‘I'm young, free and single,' he whispers as he draws me away from the crowd
and into the shadow of a giant combine harvester. ‘I promise you that.'

‘What about Jade?'

‘We're finished.'

‘I know – you said so. What I mean is, how can you be so cool about it? She must have been gutted.' I stare at him. Has he no heart?

‘She wasn't all loved up. It wasn't like that. When I talked to her about how I felt about you, she admitted she'd been seeing someone else while I was away. Jade and I have hardly seen each other since before Christmas. I've been off working while, as I suspected, she's been otherwise engaged.' Lewis pauses. ‘That makes her out to be the bad guy, but although I've won the shearing, I wouldn't win a prize for the best boyfriend in the world. I didn't look after her in the way I should have done. I didn't pay her enough attention.' He shrugs. ‘I've been doing a lot of thinking while I've been milking cows and, ultimately, I've realised that Jade and I should never have got together.'

‘So you make a habit of rushing into relationships that don't work out?'

‘I wouldn't say that. I reckon you're allowed the odd mistake on the way to finding your soul-mate.' He bites his lip and steps closer. ‘I've missed you.'

‘I've missed you too, and not necessarily in a good way.' Lewis's face falls as I continue, ‘I'm still furious with you.'

‘I never meant to deceive or hurt you.' He takes my hand. ‘I thought I was doing the honourable thing, but I got it wrong, badly wrong.' His grip on my fingers is
chafing, but I like it. ‘I thought that if I sorted things out with Jade, there'd be no need to bother you with it. I was taking the easy way out and it backfired . . . and I'm glad in a way because now it's all out in the open.'

I stare at him, watching the expression in his eyes flicker from hope to despair and back again. I watch the pulse throbbing at his throat, beating fast in time with mine. Can I forgive and forget? He moves towards me and touches his forehead to mine, just as he did when we were out training Frosty – before he went away; before everything went awry.

‘Please, give me a chance to show you how grown-up I can be.'

‘Go on, Zara,' I hear Emily call.

‘Put the poor bugger out of his misery,' Murray joins in.

‘He's a top bloke,' Chris says.

‘Zara?' Lewis repeats, and the sound of his voice melts any remaining doubts away. Lewis made a mistake. We all make mistakes.

‘Yes,' I say,‘yes, yes, yes.'

‘Whoop-whoop!' Emily calls as Lewis kisses me.

‘The winner gets the girl,' Chris jokes.

‘Come on, everyone,' Murray cuts in. ‘The beer tent beckons. Put her down – the winner has to drink a yard of ale to celebrate. It's tradition.'

‘Are you coming with us, Zara?' Lewis says hesitantly. ‘I won't drink more than a yard, I promise.'

‘Of course I'm coming along, but what about the dogs?'

‘Mick and Miley will stay with the sheep and I'll
pick them up on the way back. Poppy will look after Frosty, won't you, Poppy?'

Poppy gives Lewis a big smile and skips ahead with her dad, Frosty beside her on the lead. Lewis walks with me. I catch his scent of sheep, musk and oil.

‘It's great to see you again,' he begins.

‘It's good to see you too.' I smile to myself. I'm allowed to change my mind. As Gran would say, it's a woman's prerogative. I wonder briefly how she is, but then I find myself wanting to fill the silence between me and Lewis. I don't know what to say, so I start asking him questions about shearing, a topic I know very little about. ‘That was an impressive . . .' What do you call it, I wonder, a shear? I settle for ‘performance'.

‘I've been practising.' Lewis shows me his hands. They are callused, cut and engrained with dirt. ‘I could shear a sheep in my sleep.'

‘I suppose you have to start all over again tomorrow.'

‘That's what I'm here for.'

‘I don't know how you do that without catching their skin. I've always wondered how you know where the wool ends and the sheep begins.'

‘It's practice. The first few sheep I ever sheared at college were covered in plasters by the time I'd finished.'

‘Really?' I say. ‘Don't they stick to the wool?'

‘I'm joking.' Lewis squeezes my hand.

‘Since when have you been so interested in shearing?' Emily says, catching up with us, with Daisy's cross-country buggy bumping along across the grass.

‘Go away, sis,' I tell her hotly as Lewis responds, ‘It's second nature. You have to mind the ears and teats. I've seen someone take an ear off before. You have to be careful, but not too careful, if you know what I mean. When you faff around, you end up with extra cuts into the fleece and that makes the yarn no good if you want to go on to spin the wool.'

I know it's ridiculous, but I'm like a love-struck teenager, hanging on to his every word. Knowing he's beside me makes everything seem brighter, the candyfloss look pinker and fluffier, the fresh doughnuts smell sweeter, and the rainbow of sweets on the stalls appear more colourful, but for Once I have no desire to eat them.

Lewis chuckles wryly as we reach the beer tent. ‘So, now you're an expert on shearing, is there anything else you want to ask me about sheep? They're my specialist subject.' He raises one eyebrow and adds, ‘We could do something else more interesting later, if you like—'

‘Lewis,' Murray yells. ‘Get yourself to the bar. This one's on me and Chris.'

‘I'll see you later, Zara.' Lewis hesitates as if he's struggling to tear himself away. ‘I mustn't let the side down.'

I watch him drink his yard of ale, egged on by the other farmers. Having spilled most of the beer down his front, he pulls off his vest, revealing a six-pack and a V of dark blond hair across his chest. He uses the vest to mop up before tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. Chris thumps him on the back and Murray half
strangles him. Emily glances across to me and grins. Boys will be boys.

The celebrations continue at the family meal back at the farm. Mum and Dad call me to say they're giving Gran a lift so not to worry, and Rosie texts to let me know the baby is fine. Murray is pouring drinks while Emily cooks, and Poppy skips around the kitchen table with her rosette between her teeth. Frosty lies underneath, belly up and snoring lightly. I'm giving Daisy her bottle – at least, I'm trying to. Daisy is too occupied with staring at me and pulling the odd funny face to concentrate on drinking her milk. I touch the end of the teat to her mouth and the milk dribbles down her chin. When she's finished messing around, I hold her against my shoulder to wind her. She burps loudly and leans back, grabbing onto the silver chain I'm wearing around my neck and snapping it. I catch it, rolling it up and putting it discreetly into my pocket. It's a shame it's broken. I've had it for many years, but it isn't the end of the world.

‘So where's my rosette?' Gran asks, greeting everyone as she comes in with Mum and Dad. She's wearing what she calls her glad rags – a white blouse, tartan skirt, tights and court shoes — and she brings a box of chocolates from the shop as her contribution to the evening.

‘You can share mine,' Poppy offers.

‘I'm sorry, Gran, but you didn't get one this year,' I say.

‘Not for my cake? You did take it to the WI tent like I asked you to, Zara?' She looks at me, her expression
a mixture of confusion and hurt. ‘There was nothing wrong with that cake. It was the third one I made and it was perfect.'

‘There was a lot of competition this year.' Against my effort to soften the blow, Emily goes on tactlessly, ‘Jennie thought you'd put salt in instead of sugar.'

‘Never!' Gran exclaims.

Emily opens the tin I brought back with me and leans down under the table to offer Frosty a sliver of cake. She turns her nose up.

‘You see? Even the dog won't eat it.'

‘That is sour grapes and sabotage,' Gran says. ‘I knew I should have taken it to the show myself.'

‘There's no way anyone could have tampered with it. Half of Talyton St George were in that marquee. There's no conspiracy.'

‘Unless someone slipped indoors when I was baking . . .' Gran looks troubled. ‘Frosty wouldn't have heard them, would she?'

‘She would have seen them, though,' I insist, moving towards her. ‘If I could I'd award you a rosette: first prize for being the best gran in the whole world.'

‘You're always a winner to us.' Emily gives Gran a hug and glances at me over her shoulder, her forehead lined with concern. I shrug. I don't know what's going on. I wonder if I should have a word with Ben.

‘Catch up later after the party?' Lewis says when he sits down at the table beside me, freshly showered and shaved, and slightly sunburned.

I know what he means – when there's no one else around. I can't wait for us to spend time alone together,
but I'm going to have to dream up a way of escaping discreetly from my family.

‘Where's your necklace?' Lewis asks. ‘You were wearing it earlier.'

‘Oh, Daisy got hold of it – it snapped. I don't think it was designed to stand up to babies.'

‘That's a shame. Do you want me to have a look at it, see if I can fix it?' he offers.

‘No, don't worry, but thanks anyway.'

When the meal ends, Lewis thanks Emily and stands up.

‘I hope you don't mind, but the dogs could do with a stroll.'

‘Even though they've had a long day at the show?' Murray says.

‘They're always up for a walk.' Lewis's cheeks grow flushed. ‘Zara, do you want to bring Frosty along too?'

‘I think I'll come along with you.' Murray makes to get up from the table.

‘I don't think so,' Emily cuts in quickly. ‘You, my darling, are in charge of the dishes.'

‘I'd like some fresh air too,' Gran says with a wicked smile. She's on form, I think, the cake debacle apparently forgotten, but I notice she's been here all evening with the buttons on her blouse fastened on the wrong holes.

‘You and Poppy can take a torch and go and pull some beetroot from the garden,' Emily says. ‘I want some for a salad tomorrow.'

‘At last,' Lewis says when we're walking across the fields in the darkness, our way lit up by his headlamp
torch, and almost alone, apart from the three dogs and a pair of owls calling to each other, and the rustle of a rabbit or a fox from the hedge.

‘I know. I'm sorry about my family.'

‘Why? I love them. They're so chilled compared with mine.'

‘You and Connor seem pretty relaxed.'

‘That's because we're away from home. My dad's very strict. He once threatened to kick Connor out of the house when he found a girl in his room. He packed his bags for him and left them at the front door, but Mum persuaded him to give Connor a second chance.' We walk on a few paces before Lewis begins talking again. ‘This thing about the drinking. We ought to discuss it.'