I’ll practise on my own car – a silver Corsa that’s more than a few years old now – while I wait for my first customers to roll up. I dig out my old paint-spattered jeans and purloin one of Greg’s tatty polo-shirts that he uses for decorating. Donning my flowery wellies, I head out into the drive and set my sign up by the gate.

Filling my bucket up with warm, soapy water. I then set about giving my little car a wash. It doesn’t really need it as Greg did it during the week, but it might encourage business. I put in some serious elbow grease so that passers-by can tell that I’m not just tickling the car. This isn’t bad exercise too. It will certainly help with my Get Fit programme. I must remember to thank my husband more fervently in future when he does this for me. I realise with a pang that I do sometimes take him for granted.

When the car’s all washed and clean, I take my time with the chamois leather, polishing off all the streaks so that it dries with a shine that’s like glass. I stand back and admire my handiwork. Not a bad job even if I do say it myself.

Then I wait. And I wait a bit more. There’s a steady stream of traffic this morning zuzzing past the end of my drive, but none of the cars have yet stopped and taken advantage of my offer.

I go indoors, make myself a cup of tea and linger hopefully by the back door. No one even slows down. There’s nothing else for it. When I’ve downed my tea, I fill up my bucket again and rewash my car. It must wonder what on earth has hit it.

An hour later and it’s looking even more sparkling. Still no one has stopped. What am I going to do now? I can’t keep washing my own car as I’m going to take a layer of paint off it. And I can’t really reduce my price as it’s not going to be worth the effort. While I have time on my hands, I even contemplate selling my car to raise the money. But it’s so old now that I’d probably only get a few hundred quid for it and my precious bit of independence would disappear.

A few minutes later and my heart lifts as a car slows down outside the house. Then I see that it’s Lauren and I’m torn between disappointment that she’s not my first bona-fide customer and joy that my sister has turned up unexpectedly. Clearly no chance of Jude visiting this weekend.

‘Hi, sis.’ She kisses my cheek. ‘What in God’s name are you doing?’

I point to my sign. ‘Charity car wash.’

Lauren frowns. ‘Going well?’

My shoulders sag. ‘No.’