‘Loads better, thank you,’ I replied. ‘Being fussed over by a lovely German lady who runs a dog sanctuary. He says he’s been treated like one of her hopeless old mutts, but I think he loves it really.’

He’d come out of hospital on Wednesday and we’d had a long chat yesterday. Agnes, he told me, as well as running a dog sanctuary, had some rough and ready camping facilities, which was how they had met when he was looking for an overnight stop-off on his way to Austria. They’d hit it off immediately and in exchange for him cutting down an overgrown fir tree that was blocking the light from her bedroom window, she’d cooked him dinner, and by the time they’d got to dessert (the best Apfelstrudel he’d ever tasted), he was smitten. According to Evie she was delightful, and a tiny part of me couldn’t help thinking that maybe this motorbike accident was a blessing in disguise. Once Evie and Darren were happy that he was all right, they’d booked themselves into a romantic break in a spa hotel in Heidelberg.

‘Good.’ Marjorie gave me a watery smile and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. ‘Bloody motorbikes.’

I nodded. ‘He was lucky.’

‘Tell him—’ She bit her lip, her voice thick. ‘Tell him, if he can bear it, to get back on the bike. “Back in the saddle”, as they say. I would have done if I could.’ We both glanced down at her legs tucked under the wheel of the car she steered with her hands alone.

‘I’ll tell him,’ I promised.

‘Careful!’ Betsy tutted from the back of the car. ‘That one’s got the eggs in it.’

‘Yes, two dozen of them,’ Jensen chuckled. ‘This is a lot of food, Gran, for someone who lives alone.’

Marjorie jerked her head towards the back of the car. ‘You’d better go and hurry her ladyship up. It’s your big day today, isn’t it?’

I nodded and my insides lurched; I was definitely going to need the loo again before we left.

‘Mind you don’t crush the bag of spinach in that one,’ Betsy instructed. She looked as cool as a cucumber in a knee-length shift dress, a row of pearls decorating her bony décolletage and her hair swept up in its habitual clip.

‘Let me guess,’ Jensen said, grinning at me as I approached offering to help. ‘Spinach omelette for lunch?’

‘Yes, actually,’ she said primly, with a well-timed look at me as I reached for the last bag. ‘For the iron. Lottie, take heed. And put that bag down instantly. Jensen can manage.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured apologetically to me, his blue eyes crinkling in a smile. ‘I know a quick route; we won’t be late.’