The next morning was Sunday. I’d had a lie-in, a shower and a leisurely breakfast. Maybe later, I thought, selecting a sundress from my wardrobe, I’d pop into the nearest supermarket, choose the nicest bunch of flowers I could find and knock on Evie’s door again.

I combed through my damp hair and twisted it up into a clip before I smoothed body lotion on to my legs and arms. Then standing in front of the bedroom mirror, I lowered my towel and examined myself in profile. I had the most ridiculous white torso and nut-brown arms and legs, thanks to working outside, but that wasn’t what held my attention. There, below my tummy button, was a tiny bump. I laid a hand on my white skin. Yes, it was definitely there, I was definitely beginning to show. I smiled and my pulse speeded up; I was desperate to show someone else, to have someone place their hand on the roundness and marvel at my changing shape.

A pang of loneliness shot through me sharp as a needle and pricked at my eyes. Today was the day; I had to get through to Evie. Maybe all it would take was for me to make the first move.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Who is it?’ I called from the bedroom, throwing on my bra and dress, glad that I hadn’t left the top half of the stable door open for once.

‘Me!’ shouted Jensen. ‘We’re being attacked and I don’t know what to do.’

I darted to the door and flung it open. Starsky was there too, wagging his tail. ‘What? By whom?’

He jabbed a finger towards the sky. ‘Birds, hundreds of them.’

‘Show me.’

We ran together across the yard with the dog scampering between us through the gate across the terrace and then stopped at the top of the steps, watching as a flock of black birds swarmed over the uppermost rows of the Pinot Noir vines. Starsky began to bark and the birds nearest us took flight only to land again further away.

‘Incredible.’ I was mesmerized and horrified at the same time.

I had read about this. When the grapes start to turn black and sweet they attract the birds and word clearly spread like wildfire in the bird world.

‘Are the starlings back? Bloody nuisances! Clear off!’ Betsy appeared at the kitchen door. She stepped on to the terrace, waving her stick. ‘Ted tried everything.’

‘And what worked, Gran?’ Jensen stared at the sky.

‘His shotgun. I’ll fetch it! You go down and run around making noises, I’ll fire some shots.’

Jensen snorted with laughter. ‘Don’t even think about it!’

‘I used to be a crack shot, I’ll have you know,’ Betsy sniffed.

Jensen and I exchanged worried looks; presumably, that was before the centre of her vision had faded.