Nancy and I find two four-seats across the aisle from each other so we can spread out. I tip Katie out of the sling and set her up at the tiny side table with the crayons while I peel the satsuma and rummage in my bag for a bib to save her T-shirt.

Mirosława perches opposite me to take a photo of Katie and then one of Ava, also drawing, with the view behind her.

‘I think we’re going to be lucky with the weather,’ she smiles.

As if in answer, a sound like gravel spatters the window next to me and runs down the glass.

I get out my ticket in case the inspector comes by, and stare at it, calculating how many bus rides to the city farm we could get for the price.

Nancy passes me popcorn and I pass her rice cakes, spreading them with Philadelphia from a plastic knife.

‘Look, Katie!’ I say, as fields enter my sightline. ‘Sheep!’ I reach over and lift her up to the window. ‘We might even see some horses!’ And we do, whole packs of them.

As the sky clears a bit and the rain dries up, the landscape changes to a silty grey, lined with tall chimneys and shipping containers: industrial Essex. We pass Pitsea and I kneel up on the seat for the first glimpse. I see Nancy slip Katie a biscuit while I’m not looking, huge diamond on her finger dazzling me as usual.

Then I spot it, in the distance. ‘Katie, there it is!’ I say. ‘The sea! It’s the sea!’

Mirosława comes back down the carriage and leans on the headrests repeating the same phrase. ‘Just two more stops, so if you want to use the toilets, change nappies…’

We’re coming into Leigh-on-Sea now. Weekends in my grandmother’s caravan – but I haven’t been here in years. I start humming an old TV ad jingle, to the tune of Dylan’s ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ (though I found that out later): ‘Ma in Marlow, JEAN IN HARLOW! Lee in Leigh-on-Sea, all saving merrily.’ I watched that on my grandma’s telly too, great big rented beast.