She laid the table, put plates to warm and was energetically mashing butter, milk and finely chopped garlic into the potatoes when she heard the kitchen door open.

‘Perfect timing,’ she said, concentrating on the job in hand. ‘Just enough time to scrub up.’ Then, when there was no answer, she turned round. ‘Oh!’ Not George or Xandra, but a slender middle-aged woman who bore a clear resemblance to both of them. ‘Mrs Saxon,’ she said, wiping her hands on the apron she’d found hanging behind the door and offering her hand. ‘I’m Annie Rowland. I hope you don’t mind me making free with your kitchen, but George thought you’d be tired when you got back from the hospital. How is your husband?’

‘As bad-tempered as any man who’s being told to change the habits of a lifetime and give up everything he loves…’

Before she could say any more, Xandra burst through the door and flung her arms around her grandmother.

‘Gran! How’s Granddad?’

‘He’ll be fine. He just needs to take more care of himself. But what about you, young lady? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?’ Then, clearly knowing her granddaughter better than most, ‘I suppose it’s got something to do with your mother?’

‘I don’t care about my mother. I just wanted to be here so that I can help Granddad with the garage.’

‘Oh, Xandra!’ Then, with a sigh, ‘What have you done?’

‘You didn’t know she was here?’ George asked, following his daughter into the kitchen and this time he’d been getting his hands dirty-presumably in an effort to get the job done as quickly as possible so that he could get rid of her and close down the garage.

‘I would have mentioned it.’

‘You’ve a lot on your plate.’ He crossed to the sink and, squishing soap on his hands, began to wash them thoroughly. ‘How are things at the hospital?’