‘Some meals would be very helpful. Just for the next week or so while we find our feet. Leanne is hoping to be home in the next few days, but if someone could take Joan to hospital on one or two of those, that would also be great. Once we’ve walked Nesbit, we’re going to have a big tidy up and a clean. Sunday we’ll do a food shop on the way back from the hospital. Thank you for telling me about my trousers. I was half asleep when you knocked and pulled them on in a hurry.’

‘Excellent. How about we swap numbers, and I’ll let you know who and what to expect when. And no problem about your trousers, but my son said he might have those chairs ready for you today. I didn’t want you to end up caught with your crotch hem on show.’

Before she left, Pia unloaded three shopping bags full of essentials like bread, milk and cake, along with a giant lasagne.

‘It’s not quite your standard, but better than a microwave meal.’

‘Thank you.’

Her face creased up again. ‘It’s the least I can do. If you don’t mind, I’ll take Joan to visit her mother when it’s next convenient. I feel I must speak to her in person.’

‘We were going to head over this afternoon. If you take Joan, I could stay and get the house straight.’

‘Or, I could take Joan and you could read a book, or have a long bath and a sleep?’ She winked at me. ‘We’ll take our time, give you long enough to do both.’

I was scrubbing the shower when there was another knock on the door. And yes, I might have brushed my hair and put on a discreet swipe of mascara and lip gloss. I knew there was nothing ever going to happen between Sam and I, but my foolish heart was finding it harder to accept.

I opened the door to find him sitting in an oak chair on my doorstep, adopting a clichéd model pose. It would have been funnier if he didn’t look like a model.

‘I heard you’ve had a busy week. Thought a comfy chair might help,’ he said, standing up and picking up the solid chair like it was made of polystyrene.

‘Just one?’ I asked, peering behind him to see if there was another one for me to carry.

‘Then where would I sit?’ he replied, as if confounded by the very thought. ‘They’re heavy, though. Why don’t you open a beer or put the kettle on or something? Mum’ll kill me if she finds out I’ve had you hefting furniture.’