As the sun rose, John walked the drystone miles that made up Hollyoak; the farm that had been in his family for countless generations. The peaty bog sucked and slurped under his boots. This high on the moor, even in July, a bitter Northerly wind hissed through the sedge forcing the grasses to nod and dance.

A stubbornly determined man, John had fought to keep the farm going, often working late into the night going over the books, praying to God that somehow he had missed something. But it wasn’t to be. The farm was losing money and there was nothing he could do to stem the tide.

“Diversify!” said Rupert, the rural business advisor, and Johns' wife Jill had leapt on every hare-brained recommendation the man made. She had even suggested turning some of the stone barns into Holiday Lets. When John pointed out the cost of conversion, she countered that there were rural assistance grants to be applied for. But John was a proud man, besides they would still have to find half the cost themselves. And the coffers were empty.

Then Jill had joined the Parish Council and her mood lifted. She’d always been quite happy at Hollyoak, content to run the house and help with the lambing and suchlike. Now she was out at least three times a week, sometimes late into the night. He told himself countless times that she was just trying to help save the farm, that she was out discussing ideas for rural regeneration schemes to help the local community. She thought she was being clever; that John wouldn’t notice the new underwear and the reappearance of makeup that she hadn’t worn for years. But he noticed far more than she would have believed. He noticed the smell of aftershave on her blouse, he noticed the light in her eyes as she left and closed the door, and their dimming when she got back.

Then, when he couldn’t ignore his suspicions anymore, he followed her into the village. With relief he saw her park at the Parish Hall and go inside. He’d been waiting for less than 30 minutes when he saw the doors open and out walked Rupert, followed a moment later by Jill. He watched her take his arm and press her body against his as they walked to his car. Without turning on his lights, he followed them out to Aysgill Force, where they stopped and walked hand in hand down towards the falls. John parked and followed slowly, their every giggle and laugh cutting chunks from his soul. He watched in stony silence as they kissed and Rupert undressed his wife; he watched as the man lay his wife down; he watched as the falling water deadened the sound of their love-making. Having seen enough he turned and walked away.

John walked the drystone miles. The bitter Northerly wind laughed in his face and pulled tears streaming down his cheeks. John cursed the wind and pulled the trigger.