‘My mum died when I was nineteen, she was only forty-four and we had a lot of that,’ I said. ‘I think people feel the need to say something, you know, fill the silences. When really all I needed was someone to simply listen.’

Starsky heaved himself up from Betsy’s lap and relocated to mine. I stroked his head and his ears. His fur was wiry, although his ears were velvety and close up I could see his silvery muzzle. He was an old boy with a melancholy demeanour.

‘Poor mutt,’ Betsy crooned, running her hand down his back. ‘He was Ted’s shadow. I’d never have believed that dogs could suffer from depression, but I think that’s what it is. He’s lost his lust for life. He doesn’t know what to do with himself without Ted. You and me both, boy.’

A single tear dropped from Betsy’s face into her lap.

‘It’s still all very new,’ I said, squeezing her hand lightly. ‘The best piece of advice I had after Mum’s funeral was to just focus on getting from A to B then to C and not look any further than one step at a time. I hope that doesn’t make you want to punch me.’

She snorted with laughter and wiped her cheek. ‘It makes me glad you came to Butterworth Wines, child. Now yesterday you told me what you’ve run from, but what is it you want from this next part of your life?’

The question took me by surprise; it was such a change in direction.

‘Me?’ I thought about it for a moment. ‘I want to feel safe and secure again, I— That makes me sound pathetic.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s honest. I like honesty. Go on.’

‘I want to build a home. I think of myself as a homemaker at heart but somehow I’ve never had the chance to be that person. I want to build a home which will be a happy safe place for my own family one day.’

‘My grandson used to call my house his happy place, where he felt safest.’

‘Jensen?’

Her face softened. ‘Apple of my eye. The irony is that he now thinks I’m not safe here and would really prefer it if I sold up and moved out.’

I bit my lip but decided not to comment. Jensen had a good point; there might be plenty of volunteers around in the daytime to keep an eye on things, but with her failing eyesight, how could Betsy possibly be safe at night on her own?

‘I suppose he’s just looking out for you; with your eyes being—’

‘He doesn’t know about that,’ she cut in sharply. ‘And I want it to stay that way. Understood?’

‘Um, yes,’ I said, taken aback. ‘Understood.’