‘Don’t worry, love,’ shouts the removal man over the wind. He’s in a dark burgundy polo shirt with ‘Broderick and Daughter Removals’ in gold on the breast. I nod and try to smile at him, but inside I know I’m out of my depth. My life is way out of my control. ‘Me and Lexie are doing moves like this all the time!’ he yells cheerily, walking back from wrestling with and eventually tying back the heavy doors of the removal truck.

It’s parked in front of the house under the plane trees, their branches waving enthusiastically, like they’ve seen a long-lost friend. They’ll need pruning next year … The thought drifts through my confused mind, like a train pulling up at a station exactly on time, despite the weather conditions. Pollarding, I think randomly, letting the word sit in my mind, relishing the calm it brings, as if the wind has dropped, just for a moment, bringing calm. And then it blows up again, with a vengeance.

Why am I thinking about the plane trees at the front of the house? I won’t be here next year. I’ll be … Where will I be? The chaos that the wind brings shreds my nerves all over again as the van doors bang and outdoor pots, gathered together, topple over and roll around.

Ralph barks excitedly and barges past me, catching me on the back of the calves and making my knees buckle. He skids over the tiles to rush out and greet the visitors. Well, at least he may have left a scratch mark or two on the floor, I think sagely.

Mr Broderick walks up the couple of steps to the front door. The shutters, firmly closed upstairs, rattle in their holdings. One breaks free from its tie and bangs against the wall. I look around for Ollie to help, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Oh, yes, he is: he’s sitting in the dust-covered car, on the phone, making calls. Making plans. I sigh. More plans.