Knowing that Rosie would only continue worrying if she didn’t hear more news, smiling Dora agreed readily – she couldn’t possibly say no.

‘I could swing past Hope Farm on my way to work in the morning,’ she promised.

A happy smile briefly illuminated Rosie’s sunken eyes. ‘Oh, thank you, Dora, I’d really appreciate it.’

Dora didn’t thank Rosie when the next morning she had to get up an hour earlier than usual in order to keep her promise. But, once she was outdoors, skimming along on her sturdy old bike, she actually didn’t mind at all. It was a glorious morning, with the sun rising high, shedding golden light into dips and hollows where heather and bracken grew on craggy slopes. Sheep and their lambs ambled around the side of the mountains, bleating and baaing as they took it in turns to catch up with one another. Swallows dipped and swooped overhead, and Dora was sure she heard the sound of a cuckoo calling for a mate in the nearby woods.

Being outdoors brought a flood of memories of her twin boys, who had grown up and thrived in this wonderful landscape. Dora sighed from the depth of her soul – God, how she had worshipped her boys. Beautiful, strong, sturdy lads who raced each other up the fells and down again. Tears flooded her eyes and spilled on to her cheeks as she remembered their sweet grinning faces when they arrived home late for their tea after a day out exploring the becks and tarns.

‘We got lost, Mam,’ they used to say in unison.

Dora had always found it hard to be cross with them, the two like peas in a pod, covered in mud and ruddy with health. Her smile melted any anger she might have felt about their tea going cold.

‘Wash your hands before you sit down,’ she would say in a pretend firm voice as she produced their tea from the oven.

‘Thanks, Mam,’ they’d cry as they rushed to hug her on their way to washing their grimy hands in the sink.