The vicar was due round any minute, I remembered. One of Mummy’s parish meetings. I threw down my cricket bat and ran towards the house. Even Olivia perked up. She had been pouting on the bench in front of the hollyhocks because William had caught her out. She and the others weren’t supposed to know about Granny, but of course they did.

‘She must’ve taken all her clothes off again!’ Olivia cried, almost clapping with delight.

The four of them left in the garden watched as I scurried into the house. They stood in silence, unable to resist trying to hear what was afoot: Olivia, William looking embarrassed and Angus and John from next door.

The house felt very dark and cool as I ran inside. Mummy emerged from the kitchen and seized my arm.

‘Do something with her quickly,’ she hissed, unrestrained now we were alone. I was startled, feeling her hand on my arm. We hardly ever touched each other. ‘The wretched, selfish old woman. This is too much. Mr Hughes could be on the doorstep for all I know.’

Clenching her hands into fists to try and quell her frustration, she retreated back into the kitchen. She must have thanked heaven for the nets in the front windows, or anyone passing along Chantry Road might be treated to a glimpse of her mother-in-law. It wasn’t just embarrassing that she was standing there starkers like that: it made it look as if Granny wasn’t being cared for properly, and Mummy was supposed to know about taking care of people.

I tiptoed nervously along the tiled hall. The drawing-room door was not quite shut and I tried to peer through the crack between the hinges but my specs got in the way, so I pushed the door a little further open.

Granny was standing with her back to me. She had not a stitch on. Her hands were clamped to her waist, and she was taking in deep breaths through her nose and letting them out through her mouth like a steam train mustering force. Though I’d never in my life seen Mummy naked, the sight of Granny was something I was growing used to. Sometimes I helped her dress, and very often I sat perched on a cork-seated stool as steam curled round the bathroom, and kept her company while she bathed. In fact that was when we had our best talks.

I could talk to Granny Munro about anything. What was such a relief about her was the way she was so straight and open, just came out with it when she was thinking something. And I could tell her so much, like how I got fed up with Mummy lumping me in with the boys all the time and never buying me anything pretty like Olivia had and how I wished Angus was my brother instead of Wonderful William.

She’d tell me stories about her childhood and her life in North Berwick with Grandpa Robert and how she swam in the grey foamy sea every day up until she left. We said things to each other we knew mustn’t be repeated.