‘Harry suddenly decided he didn’t hate cauliflower leaves anymore and that he had to have Gareth’s leaf so he nicked it from right under his nose. Gareth just stared at Harry as if he’d been mugged. Which he had. Harry didn’t even eat the leaf. Naughty Harry,’ Zennor raised her voice. ‘That was so rude. I don’t know if Gareth will ever get over it.’

‘Poor Gareth. He’s too nice to mug Harry back, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ Sam lifted Gareth up and blew him a kiss and caught Zennor smiling smugly at her. Sam sometimes joked about the pigs being a nuisance and smelly, but Zennor knew she adored them. It was strange how soothing it could be to watch them zooming round the living room or chewing a carrot at the end of a tough day. If only her own life was that simple … she was still reeling from the news that Gabe was to star in her festival and wondering how to tell Zennor.

‘Anyway, let me chuck out their crap and wash my hands and I’ll fix the mojitos. I bloody need one after the day I’ve had,’ said Zennor.

Not as much as me, thought Sam, while Gareth squeaked contentedly in her lap and his brother, Harry, a peach-blond stunner of a pig, whizzed through his play tube on the carpet. The two pigs lived in harmony most of the time and no wonder as their home and toys were palatial compared to the rest of the cottage. They were actually the fifth and sixth pigs since Zennor and Sam’s mum had passed away.

Sam remembered Brad and Angelina – two gorgeous long-haired creatures who’d had to be kept separate in the end because they were always either trying it on with each other or fighting. They were followed by Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde who’d got on surprisingly well. Sadly, for the Lovell sisters – but probably happily for the pigs – they’d expired within two days of each other.

Zennor had wept for ages after every demise while Sam fetched the trowel and prepared another plot in the guinea garden of remembrance at the rear of the cottage. Each little grave was marked with a different shell arrangement, designed by Zennor, to suit the departed pig’s personality. Zennor had threatened to dig up the skeletons if they had to move, not that Sam could ever see a day when they’d leave Wavecrest Cottage. Too many memories, happy and heart-breaking, were woven into the fabric of that house. Wavecrest was as much a part of them as a bone or vital organ.

Zennor’s re-entry into the room was marked by Mexican-style whoops from Sam as she weaved her way between Harry and the guinea pig toys with a glass in each hand.