‘Come on, they’ll have stripped half the grapes off at this rate,’ I said, jumping down the steps and letting a by-now-frantic Starsky through the gate and in amongst the vines. I’d never seen the little dog so animated but he seemed to know what to do, barking up at the sky and sending the birds soaring.

‘Gran, stay out of trouble, bang some saucepan lids together or something,’ yelled Jensen over his shoulder.

‘Spoilsport,’ I heard her grumble.

I charged at the birds, clapping my hands above my head.

‘Shoo! Scram! Go on, off!’ I yelled.

Jensen took the next row, letting out a war cry: ‘YAHHHHH.’

‘What do you think this is,’ I shouted, waving my arms in the air, ‘an all-you-can-eat buffet?’

In the next row, I heard Jensen burst out laughing. ‘Flock off, birds, or I’ll set my gran on you.’

‘I heard that,’ came a haughty shout from the terrace. ‘Now, eat your heart out, Keith Moon.’

A hideous racket started up as Betsy clashed two large saucepan lids together. Whoever Keith Moon was, he didn’t seem to be a particularly gentle influence.

‘I love your gran,’ I yelled to Jensen, getting a stitch from laughing and running.

There was a tiny pause. ‘She’s a one-off all right.’

And then we both set off again, yelling ridiculous insults at our feathered enemies. More and more birds took to the air, Starsky ran up and down the rows, beside himself with joy, barking and snapping fruitlessly at the air while Jensen and I ran to the end of our respective rows until we met, breathless, in the middle. We both collapsed, laughing and worn out, on the bench where I’d sat with Sidney the day before.

‘They’ve gone,’ I said, panting as hard as Starsky who flung himself down at our feet, a doggy smile on his little face.

‘You can stop now, Gran!’ Jensen shouted up to the house, shielding his eyes from the sun.

Betsy didn’t hear him and carried on beating the anti-starling tattoo with her metal lids.

‘She’ll give up in a minute,’ I said with a giggle.

‘Let’s hope the birds have given up for the day too.’ Jensen scanned the skies. ‘Perhaps you can see if there are any less labour-intensive bird-scaring methods?’

I grinned at him. ‘I’ll google it.’

I pressed a hand to my side and winced.

His smile dropped. ‘What is it? Is it the baby?’

I shook my head, touched by his concern. ‘Just a stitch. It’s all this laughing; I haven’t had so much fun in ages.’

‘Me neither.’ His blue eyes held mine. He lay his arm on the back of the bench behind my shoulders and it took all my self-control not to scoot next to him and snuggle into that hollow between his chin and his collarbone.