‘I thought you always said that was naff,’ commented Helena, nevertheless doing as she was told on the threshold. She then boggled at the little white slippers in a cellophane wrapper we were handed.

‘What’s this, Granny?’ exclaimed Imo in wonder.

‘They’re from the local spa,’ Mum explained. ‘They let me have a few, because I go there regularly now for my toenails. Lucy takes me, and my frightfully nice girl gave them to me. And your father.’

‘Dad! Pedicures at a spa?’ Helena blinked at him.

‘It’s more pruning of the rhino tusks, actually,’ Dad drawled. ‘With hedge clippers. But yes, they do mine too. So much cheaper than a chiropodist.’

‘Neither of us can reach, you see,’ Mum explained. ‘And your father’s were growing out of his socks.’

‘Oh please.’ Helena was horrified.

‘Come on, let’s go in.’ Dad was equally excited and impatient, I realized, and in we shuffled, in our spa slippers.

More had happened since last I was here, and Imo and Helena rightly oohed and aahed over the shiny granite worktops and wooden cupboards now in situ, all the drawers sliding noiselessly in and out. Mum demonstrated and Imo, rising to the occasion, joined in, hamming it up like a schmoozing saleswoman. ‘The drawers don’t so much slide as glide,’ she purred in a low voice, demonstrating, and we all laughed. Yes, I made myself. And actually, it was so lovely having my family around me, particularly these two highly intelligent women, I felt better already. How could anything ghastly happen? I was sure it would all be fine.

When everyone had gushed sufficiently, we headed back for a quick coffee in the kitchen, exchanging snippets of news. As Helena showed our parents photos of the twins on a recent school trip to France, I put a chicken pie for two in the oven and told Dad it would be ready in half an hour. Then, with huge hugs all round, and promises to come down again soon, the three of us set off in Helena’s car.

The car was silent. For some time. At length, Helena spoke. She tried to keep her voice light.

‘Well, that little house has got Mum and Dad written all over it.’

‘It’s a no-brainer,’ I told her. ‘And actually, had this just been a normal day, we could well be doing just that. Going to the pub to talk about what to do with Pope’s Farm, when they both move into the cottage.’

‘It is a normal day,’ put in Imo from the back. ‘The more I think about it from the little you’ve told me, the more the whole thing is absurd.’

‘I agree,’ said Helena staunchly. ‘But let’s do this over lunch and a glass of wine. I think I’m allowed to sip a small one for the road.’