‘We forgot,’ he said shortly. Or didn’t know how. Or where to go. So they had lived without music, Dad’s greatest love, even beyond books. I realized now I’d hardly heard it since I’d been here, except for that old Nina Simone the other day – and now I thought about it, that had been a gramophone record. And historically, music had been on all the time. The soundtrack to my youth. I felt angry on their behalf. Angry at the world overtaking them. I would not get like this, not ever.

‘But this whole house has been Spotified,’ Mum said proudly. ‘We told Jerry we all like Brahms and Chopin—’

‘And Dire Straits, we knew you liked—’ Dad put in quickly.

‘So he put it all on a thingy.’

We were moving towards the front door now, preparing to go. Before we left, I made Mum turn off the music. Then I switched off the lights and took their arms before we embarked on the darkness. We had to return, however, as my mother had taken the remote with her. They gave the interior a last lingering look as I turned on the light to nip inside.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ I told them, switching off the light and shutting the door. ‘And you’re right, I’m going to love it here.’

No need to say any more at this moment, I thought, as we linked arms and went back to the house. No need for any further discussion. Just take one day at a time and let things naturally, and, I feared, irrevocably, fall into place.

But what of this place, the farmhouse? I thought, as I lay alone in bed later that night. I tossed off the heavy bedcover and turned over to face the wall. Could we rent it out? It was so run-down. Sell it? Dad would never agree. And who would keep an eye on them? Could we have a carer in here? Eventually I fell fitfully asleep, it being only a small comfort that my parents were sleeping very comfortably down the hall, dreaming of dancing to Brahms.

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