She made a quick cup of tea, trying not to wake Jago whose bedroom was just next door, and then she surveyed her list. She’d been tempted to pack Jago’s pickup (she was so grateful to him for swapping vehicles for the day) the night before, but then she worried about it raining or the truck being stolen or indeed anything she possibly could worry about. At least now she didn’t need to worry about being late. She spent longer than usual getting herself ready. Moving boxes around was likely to disturb Jago and she preferred to do that at a less unearthly hour.

There were so many boxes. There were boxes of stock (quite a few of those, to her relief), there was her loom, the small one that she didn’t have to assemble if the space really was as small as Amy insisted it would be; there were yarns, a selection of shuttles, beaters, combs and needles. She was aiming to make her stall look so interesting people would come over even if they had no interest whatsoever in buying a scarf. And although she had intended to only sell her silk scarves (Amy had got her in on this high-end product) she’d also brought all the rugs and throws she’d made for World of Wool which was later in the month. She wouldn’t sell them in this posh venue, she was sure, but they added life and colour to her stall. Then there were the boxes of cheese straws, tiny savoury scones and little vol-au-vents her mother had insisted she brought with her.

‘You never know when you may need a snack,’ Gilly had said, ‘and knowing you quite well, you need one quite often.’

‘I have my sandwiches!’

‘You may need to offer other people a nibble.’ There had been a pause. ‘To serve with the Prosecco someone may bring.’

Helena hugged her mother. ‘Someone is so very kind! The best someone in the world!’

It was a really beautiful May morning. The early sunshine shone through the new green leaves sending dappled light on to the road. As the show was nearly an hour’s drive away, Helena had time to enjoy the countryside that she didn’t often see quite so early. Especially recently when she’d been working so hard.

But as she got nearer, Helena began to get nervous. Would her products look clunky, homespun and rustic next to all the other exhibitors? She was used to exhibiting at shows where the handmade chunky look was not only permitted, it was obligatory.

This was very different. Everything would be sleek, highly finished, shiny, totally professional. Like many creative people Helena suffered badly from ‘fear of being caught out’, as if she was someone who didn’t know what they were doing and just loved doing it, like any old amateur creative.