"Where's Jack then?"

"Away dreaming with the fairies, he is."

"Jack!"

Jack started and blinked, and the room swam into focus around him. It was dark, lit only by a fire in the hearth and candles on the tables; the faces of his friends were shadowed as they turned towards him with smiles and nods. "Wake up, Jacky-boy. 'Tis your turn."

"Ahh," groaned Jack when he'd seen the cards on the table. "You've got me bad, Matt. That's a nasty trick to play."

Matt shrugged comfortably, his conscience unpricked. Jack had won enough pints of beer from him in the past that having a lucky hand was well warranted. With a sigh, Jack tossed down his best card and returned to his daydream.

It was less of a daydream and more of an attack of anxiety. Lately his thoughts had never been far away from the catastrophe happening at home. And it was a catastrophe: or at least it seemed so to Jack and his mother, who had so very little to live on and depended so heavily on their little garden.

He had first noticed the signs a week or so ago. It was summer and the carrots should have been ready to pick, but when he'd gone out with a basket, the first one he'd pulled up had been a very odd whitish-grey colour, and the smell that reached his nose almost made him retch. Hastily he'd chucked the disgusting object away, and pulled up the next carrot. To his astonishment, it was exactly the same. In growing horror, he went down the row of green leaves – so promising, so lush-looking – and found that only ten or eleven carrots, out of an entire crop, had escaped the holocaust. But what on earth could have affected them? There was no sign of insects, and if it was a disease it was one he'd never seen before. Gingerly, he poked at the pile of horrible white vegetables, and repressed a shudder. He knew, very well, how much of a blow this was to his and his mothers' livelihood. Carrots and potatoes were the main backbone of their produce stall throughout the year – and this time there were barely enough for themselves to eat, let alone to sell.

And it wasn't just the carrots that had succumbed to this mysterious disease, he discovered over the following few days. Other plants that had previously seemed perfectly healthy had sprouted random spots of mould and decay, or had developed odd growths reminiscent of galls. Panic began to overwhelm Jack, and though he had hidden the gravity of the situation from his mother he began to think that it was time to tell the truth.

At the moment the problem was not as pressing as it could have been; this spring had been a good one, because an uncle related to Jack and his mother by law had died and left them a small sum of money. Small it may have seemed to the rich man, but it had served to greatly lessen the desperation of the little family. All too soon, however, the money had shown signs of running low, and so Jack worried.

He was a sturdy, practical boy, well-liked by the other village lads and respected for his sensible and responsible attitude. His devotion to his mother, Anne, who suffered from a condition that left her capable of movement only with great difficulty, could have been a motive to taunt him; but somehow Jack was rarely mocked. Something about the honesty with which he met questions about himself, or perhaps it was just the knowledge that he had a good pair of fists on him, made prospective teases speedily rethink their approach.

Jack, somewhat to his surprise, also had a loyal following of girls in the little village. He knew himself to be only average-looking, with light brown hair and a snub nose, and so the way girls seemed to be always around him never failed to amaze him. What he never could see, and would have ceased to be charming if he had been able to, was the power of his eyes. He had strangely vivid blue-green eyes, and when he lifted his long lashes and fixed his gaze on a girl, it never failed to played havoc with her heart. True, there was the fact that was just a genuinely nice lad; he never joined in with the rough talk of the other boys, and you could always count on him to help you out, no matter your problem. But it was mainly his eyes that drew the attention of village belles.

One such girl was Aileen, undisputedly the prettiest girl of them all. She had lately taken to inviting Jack on long walks down by the river, and being absurdly possessive of him in company. Jack, while vaguely aware that these attentions were not unpleasant, did not attach much importance to her company; to him she was just another friend. He had more on his mind than a pretty girl.

His thoughts had returned once more to the problem of the carrots, and he sighed again and propped his chin on his hand. Aileen, who had as usual managed to wheedle her way into the boys' game of cards (she owed much to a beautiful face and a smile impossible to cross), glanced at him and then scowled when she failed to attract his attention. Jack should look at her – not into the fire. She tossed the curly end of her yellow braid over her shoulder and tried again.

"Jack, you're miles away. Come back," she said sweetly.

"Sorry," said Jack, starting and shaking his head to clear the dark thoughts. "What's wrong, Aileen?"

"Well, I was just thinking that it's getting late and I might go home soon," she answered, to a chorus of groans from the boys, who knew that she'd requisition Jack to go with her. Sure enough, ignoring their moans, she applied to him: "Would you escort me home? It's just a step, and I'd be so glad of some company now that it's growing dark."

He gave her his ready smile, not a whit bothered by her request. He didn't mind leaving the game early; in fact her departure would give him an excuse to go home early and think over his problems. "Of course. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, boys."

"Ah, stay a bit!"

"C'mon, lad!"

"The game's not even half done!"

"John can play for me," laughed Jack, pushing his cards over to where one of the quieter members of their group was sitting with his drink. "Sleep tight," he added teasingly over his shoulder as Aileen daintily stepped through the door ahead of him. His friends waved at him, or made rude gestures in the case of one or two.

It was much lighter outside the pub, despite how late it was; the sky was clear – so far, the summer weather had been flawless – and though the sun had set, it was still a shade of blue-violet gradually darkening over in the east. Aileen, who had decided that her best look was girlish high spirits, skipped along ahead of Jack as he walked at his customary steady pace and occasionally twirled round so that her long full skirt flared out. (Her ankles were one of her best features; something of which she was perfectly well aware.)

"Isn't the day gorgeous at this time?" she chattered. "Only the blackbirds singing away, and everything else all peaceful. And it's so nice to be warm even at this late hour." To illustrate her words, she stretched out her arms and lifted her face to the sky. "And smell the honeysuckle!" She drew in a rapturous breath. "So lovely."

"Yes," said Jack, privately amused at her emotion. It was one he shared in; he loved the world around him and particularly on a summer evening, but this was the first time Aileen had shown any sign of interest in anything other than gossip or fashion. He wondered how long it would last, and sure enough it was only a few moments later that she fell into step beside him and began to impart various stories.

"Guess what? Sian and Nathan are to announce their engagement on Sunday at Mass," she told him, hoping to move his mind onto the pleasurable topic of love and marriage. He gave her a sunny smile, clearly pleased with the news.

"That's great. Nat's been planning to ask her for ages. I hope they'll be happy, God bless them."

"She'll make a beautiful bride," Aileen agreed, giving him a sidelong glance from underneath long golden lashes. When no gallant compliment about her own beauty was forthcoming, she sighed and continued. "She's putting off the wedding till winter, though, because she says she saw a white spirit in the forest last Friday, and everyone knows that means six months of bad d-decisions." She stammered to a halt, remembering too late that Jack did not like such talk. His usual smile was gone, and his cheerful open face had darkened to a frown.

"That's rubbish and superstition," he growled. "You know I don't believe in such things."

"But she says she saw something, Jack. You can't deny that," argued Aileen, who had a healthy respect for 'such things' and would have refused to go into the said forest for a million pieces of silver.

"I most certainly can," he countered swiftly. "There's no such thing as spirits and fairies and the Good People. It's all a load of myth and legend and hearsay."

Aileen hastily made the sign against the evil eye behind his back where he couldn't see, in case his blatant disrespect caused any bad fortune to her. "I suppose so," she said dutifully, trying to strike a note that wasn't disagreement but didn't bind her to one opinion.

"Good," he said firmly. Then, sensing her confusion, he changed the subject. "How are your sisters?" One of Jack's greatest sorrows was that he had no siblings. He had had no lack of playmates as a child, but he'd mourned the companionship of a brother or sister, and later he wished for younger siblings to look after. He was good friends with most of the children in the village, and he rather liked Aileen's cheeky little sisters.

"Fine. Elisa is starting school in the autumn."

"Already? It seems like only yesterday that she was learning to walk." He grinned at the memory of the chubby child trying to stand only to fall back onto her backside.

"I know; they grow up too quickly. And Anne is nearly four now."

"What about the baby?"

"She's fine too. She can nearly say my name now; she calls me Leen." She laughed, and Jack thought how much more this genuine happiness suited her than the forced attitude she so often put on for him. It was a shame that she wasn't more comfortable in her own skin, as he was. With Jack, what you saw was what you got.

They passed the rest of the walk pleasantly enough talking about Aileen's family, and when they reached her home he wished her a good night and waved until she'd closed the door behind her. Somehow his heart felt lighter than before, despite his worries about the carrot crop. It was good to laugh and talk with a friend.

He made his way back to his own cottage, away at the end of the village, whistling as he went.