With her words echoing in my ears and my father avoiding my eye as he polished away, the two of us went outside. Picking our way through the undergrowth in the dusk, I held Mum’s arm. Slowly we made our way through the long grass and what remained of the gravel path to the front door of what we quaintly, and anachronistically, called the cottage. The door stuck a bit so I gave it a shove. It still wouldn’t open so I gave it more heft. In I flew, into what can only be described as a building site. I stumbled to a halt. A wall had come down between the hall and the sitting room and the remains of it, together with the sledgehammer, was still in a pile of bricks on the floor. Floorboards were up, joists were exposed, and wires hung from walls. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling and a broken window let in a cool breeze. In the midst of all this dystopian chaos, Danny was indeed very much in situ. Hunched beside a pathetic smoky fire in a blackened grate, he sat on an upturned crate, a mug of tea in one hand, a fork in the other. An open can of cold baked beans, a saucer full of cigarette ends, and the Sun newspaper were before him on another upturned crate. He turned in surprise as we entered. Danny was seventy if he was a day.

‘Ah, Danny!’ My mother clasped her hands joyfully. ‘So sorry to disturb your tea break. How are you getting on?’

Danny looked around critically, not in the least abashed at being caught on the hop. He sucked his teeth. ‘I’m not gonna lie, Mrs Hartley, it’s a long job. A very long job.’

‘Right. But you’ll have it done in a jiffy? This is my daughter Lucy, by the way. She’s going to be living here. Lucy, Danny.’ Anyone would think we were at a cocktail party.

‘Well,’ he shook his head soberly, not entering into my mother’s festive spirit, ‘there’s a lot more than I thought. A lot more. I’d say you can forget about staying here for a bit.’ He looked at me accusingly, as if I’d really got ahead of myself.

‘Well – clearly!’ I spluttered.

‘No, not for a bit, I agree,’ Mum said, patting my arm. ‘It’ll be a while before it’s ready. But not too long. Danny’s got it all under control, haven’t you, Danny?’ But Danny declined to answer. He stared around gloomily. ‘And that’s why I’ve got your old room ready,’ she prattled on. ‘Just for the time being. But I just wanted to show you how it was going.’

Slowly, I thought, as we bid farewell to Danny. He went back to his newspaper. It seemed to me he might be bedded in for the night.