Read Chapter 7: — THE PEOPLE LEFT BEHIND

The first recruitment meeting took place in Daniel's barn.

Five people came.

Arthur Bell. Edith Pike, seventy-six, who still made baskets tight enough to carry potatoes. Pete Mason, a fifty-eight-year-old factory worker with an injured leg. Nora Finch, who embroidered birds onto anything that remained still long enough. And Stanley Moss, who spoke so little that Martin was unsure whether he had agreed to anything.

Pete brought his mother, Edith's lifelong friend May, who had one cataract and a worry larger than her body.

Her grandson Callum was twenty-five, had a prison record for assault, and was reportedly working for a man who ran illegal card rooms and debt collection in Bristol.

"Bring him home," May said to Martin.

"I'm building baskets, May. Not conducting raids."

"You know people."

"I used to know bankers. They're more dangerous, but less useful in a fight."

She did not laugh.

Martin promised only that he would think.

Another villager, George Bell—Arthur's son—had once been expected to attend university. A disastrous exam year, a fraudulent private college and years of family conflict had broken something in him. He now lived at home, neglected his appearance and spent long stretches withdrawn from everyone.

The village called him mad.

Martin hated the word.

He persuaded Arthur to let him arrange a proper mental-health assessment through the NHS and a local charity. George was not cured by a speech, a book or a single diagnosis. He began slowly: medication adjustment, therapy, routine, sleep, social contact and work he could control.

Martin gave him a second-hand laptop.

George responded by building a spreadsheet that tracked materials, hours, defects and prices more accurately than Martin's handwritten system.

"You understand this?" Martin asked.

George looked offended.

"I understand numbers. I just stopped believing numbers understood me."

Martin hired him.

The village gossiped.

Daniel worried.

"What if he relapses?"

"Then we deal with it like adults."

"What if customers hear?"

"Then they hear we employ a man who has been ill."

Daniel rubbed his bad leg.

He understood exclusion better than most.

"Fair enough," he said.

Sunward Weaves had six workers, no proper workshop, no wholesale client and one order for a dozen log baskets from a pub Martin knew.

Martin had launched companies with glossy brochures and multimillion-pound finance.

This felt more fragile.

It also felt more important.