Leena wrinkles up her nose. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say testily, getting up. ‘There’s a gate in the hedge between my garden and his, and he seems to think it gives him the right to trespass whenever he likes.’

‘What an arse,’ Leena says airily as we head for the kitchen.

‘Shh !’

‘Oh, isn’t Arnold going deaf?’

‘No, that’s Roland, Penelope’s husband.’

‘Oh. Well. In that case: what an arse,’ Leena repeats in a stage whisper, making me snigger.

When we round the corner into the kitchen, Arnold’s face looms very large in the window. The glass is clouded with his breath, but I can still see his hawkish nose, straggly flying hair, and bottle-thick glasses. I narrow my eyes.

‘Yes, Arnold?’ I say, pointedly refusing to open the window. Every conversation is a battle of wills when it comes to Arnold. You have to stand your ground on every point, even the really insignificant ones you don’t actually mind about.

‘Those cats!’ he yells.

‘I can hear you perfectly well at normal volume, thank you,’ I say, as icily as I can. ‘You are well aware this house isn’t double-glazed.’ He’s always on at me about that too.

‘Those cats of yours ate all my pansies!’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ I tell him. ‘Cats don’t eat pansies.’

‘Yours do!’ Arnold says furiously. ‘Would you just open the window or invite me in, so we can have a proper conversation like civilised adults?’

‘Of course,’ I say, with a polite smile. ‘Do come around to the front door and knock, and we’ll see if I’m in. Like civilised adults.’

In the corner of my eye I can see Leena staring at me with her mouth a little open.

‘I can see you’re in,’ Arnold says, eyebrows drawing together in the thunderous frown that means I’m really getting to him. ‘Just let me in the side door, would you?’

My polite smile is still in place. ‘It’s jammed.’

‘I saw you walk in and out of there just this morning to put the rubbish out!’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Are you watching me, now, Arnold?’

He blusters. ‘No,’ he says, ‘of course not. I just … it’s slippy out when it’s been raining. You really ought to get a grab rail put next to that door.’

I bristle. Grab rails are for old ladies who can’t keep steady on their feet. When I reach that stage, I hope I shall gracefully accede to the horrors of stair lifts and standing aids, but given that I am currently able to swim twenty lengths in the Daredale swimming pool and can even manage a jog if I’m late for the bus, I do not like the suggestion that I’m so doddery I need a grab rail.

This, of course, is precisely why Arnold has suggested it. The old sod.

‘Well,’ Leena says brightly, ‘this has been a constructive conversation thus far, but we’ve got a lot to do this morning, so perhaps we could push on. Did you actually see the cats eating the pansies, Arnold?’

Arnold considers lying. He’s a dreadful liar – he can’t manage to come up with a fib without a lengthy pause beforehand.

‘No,’ he admits eventually. ‘But I know it was them. They’re always at it, eating my flowers just when they’re in bloom.’

Leena nods sagely. ‘Well, Arnold, as soon as you have some evidence of that, do give us a call. I’ll be house-sitting for Eileen for the next two months, so it’ll be me you’ll be dealing with.’

Arnold blinks a few times. I try not to smile. Leena is using her work voice, and she sounds wonderfully intimidating.

‘OK?’ Leena says.

‘Just keep an eye on those cats,’ is Arnold’s parting shot, and then he’s striding off to the gate between our gardens again.

‘You need to replace that gate with a large fence,’ Leena says, rolling her eyes at Arnold’s back. ‘You were hilarious, Grandma – I’ve never seen you being bitchy before.’

I open my mouth to protest but find myself smiling instead.

‘You’re going to do just fine in London,’ Leena says, giving me a squeeze. ‘Now. Let’s find you the perfect outfit for your debut as a London lady, shall we?’

*

I stand in the hallway of my daughter’s house and hold her too tightly. I can see the living room over her shoulder; Carla’s bed is gone, but the chairs still arc around the space where it lay. The room has never really gone back to its old shape.

‘I’ll be absolutely fine, don’t you worry,’ Marian tells me firmly as we pull apart. ‘This is a lovely idea. You so deserve a break, Mum.’

But she’s tearing up again. It’s been so long since I’ve seen those brown eyes clear; there are dark blots underneath them now, like little bruises. She was always so beautiful, Marian – boys chasing her down the street, girls copying her hairstyle, parents looking at me and Wade and wondering where we got her from. She has the same golden-toned skin as Leena, and her wavy hair is streaked through with honey, the envy of hairdressers everywhere. But there are new lines on her face, tugging down at the corners of her mouth, and through the tight yoga leggings she’s wearing I can see how thin she’s become. I don’t want to leave her for two months. Why am I even considering this?

‘No, don’t you even think about it,’ Marian says, shaking a finger at me. ‘I’m fine. I’ll be fine. And Leena will be here!’ She gives me a wry smile, and there’s a hint of the old Marian there, mischievous and impulsive. ‘I have to say, I didn’t think even you could persuade Leena to come up and stay within a one-mile radius of her awful mother for two whole months, Mum.’

‘She does not think you’re an awful mother. And it was her idea!’

‘Oh, was it now?’

‘It was!’ I protest. ‘But I do think it’ll be good for you both.’

Marian smiles, more faintly this time. ‘It’s wonderful, Mum. I’m sure by the time you’re back, she and I will have sorted ourselves out again, and everything will be better.’

Marian – ever the optimist, even in the depths of grief. I squeeze her arms and kiss her on the cheek. This is the right thing to do. We’re stuck, the Cotton family. If we’re going to get anywhere, we need to give things a shake.

*

To my surprise, most of the members of the Neighbourhood Watch are waiting on the platform when we arrive at Daredale station – Dr Piotr drove them down in the school minivan, bless him. It’s a long journey for them all to take from Hamleigh, so I’m touched. When a rather teary Betsy presses her home phone number into my hands – ‘in case you haven’t got it written down anywhere’ – I find myself wondering why on earth I’m leaving Hamleigh-in-Harksdale at all. Then I look at Dr Piotr, and at Basil with his Union Jack pin on his tweed lapel, and at Leena, standing alone, thin and drawn. My resolve returns.

This is the right thing for my family. And besides, I’m turning eighty this year. If I’m going to have an adventure, it has to be now.

Leena helps me on to the train and hefts my luggage on to the rack, extracting promises from various fellow travellers that they’ll help me get it down when we reach London. We hug goodbye, and she slips out of the train doors just in time.