‘Don’t women of your age normally take up Pilates or join a book club or something? I don’t know many of my friends’ mums who go trogging up the Andes.’

‘Doesn’t that make you even a bit proud of me?’

‘I just think you’re completely barking,’ my daughter reassures me.

‘Ellen, I want you to do something wonderful with your life,’ I tell her with a sigh.

‘I wouldn’t know what to do.’

‘The world is literally your oyster,’ I point out. ‘You’re a bright girl. You could go back to college, study to do something exciting or worthwhile.’

She shrugs. ‘I like working in Monsoon.’

‘I want more for you,’ I say. ‘I wish you wanted more for yourself.’

Another shrug. ‘I want a cuppa,’ she jokes. ‘Do you?’

‘No, thanks. I’m going out to start my fundraising. I need to raise at least two thousand pounds to pay for my place.’

‘Two grand? And you’ve got to pay? I’d need someone to pay me to go. You’re bonkers.’

‘Thanks for your support.’ I slip on my jacket.

‘You’re giving Dad a lot of grief over this, you know,’ she says. ‘He thinks you’ll be applying to go on Big Brother next.’

‘I might well do,’ I tell Ellen. ‘Or I could audition for X-Factor. What a good idea. My version of Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” is unique.’

And then, leaving my daughter with a gaping mouth, I flounce out.

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

I start with my next-door neighbour, Pat.

‘I’m going to Peru,’ I say. ‘Doing the Inca Trail for the Dream Days charity. Would you perhaps like to sponsor me?’

‘Greg told Terry about this.’ She flicks her thumb towards her husband indoors as she throws back her head and guffaws. ‘Are you mad, girl?’

I feel my lips tighten and I hope it looks like a smile. ‘I thought it would be a fun way to raise money for a good cause.’

‘Fun?’ My neighbour snorts at that. ‘I’ll sponsor you,’ she says. ‘Too right I will.’ And she writes down a pound on the form.

A pound? Her expression tells me that she thinks she’s Rockefeller’s daughter for stumping up that much.

‘Thanks,’ I say. Pat closes the door and, muttering, I head for the next house.

‘Peru?’ Mr Manley says. ‘You can’t drink the water there.’

‘Possibly not.’

‘Definitely not.’

‘Would you like to sponsor me?’

He huffs at that, clearly not enamoured at this unexpected request for expenditure, and looks at what else is on the form. As Pat has written a pound, so does he.

Next house. ‘Why would I want to pay for you to go to Peru?’

‘It’s not actually for me, it’s for the Dream Days charity.’

‘And how much money does the charity get out of this lot?’

‘Er,’ I say. ‘I’m not exactly sure.’