Oliver has suggested we don’t carry on with our lessons next half term, but I am keen to continue and would be happy to teach him free of charge. It would be a dreadful waste for him to give up on this, as I fear he may.

The note shook in my hand as Gramps stared at me from the kitchen doorway. It wasn’t clear if his expression was anger or disappointment. He shook his head. ‘Don’t you wish people would just butt out?’ he said. ‘Sit down and eat your dinner.’

I heaped some chilli on to a piece of crusty baguette – our preferred way of eating it. Gramps did the same, taking a gigantic bite that caused red mince to cascade from his chin back on to the plate.

‘I know what mental illness looks like, thank you very much, Miss Eleanor Morgan,’ he said. ‘You’ll be too young to remember how it was with your mother, Ollie.’

He was wrong. I’d been three years old when she was first hospitalized, but I did remember some things. The sudden change in Gramps as we returned from a day out. How pale he looked when he told me that Mum was ill, that she was on the floor. How I was hurried past her and plonked in front of cartoons while she was stretchered into an ambulance. Gramps had never told me what actually happened that day – the most he ever said was how it was, ‘Out of the blue.’ It was Aunty Kaye who, years later, told me about the Temazepam and the brandy, and how it wasn’t out of the blue at all.

‘Suggesting that you are mentally ill of all things,’ Gramps said, rolling his eyes. ‘You’re nothing of the sort. Such a fashionable thing to bandy about these days, isn’t it?’

I nodded along with him. But I remembered something else Aunty Kaye had once said. ‘We’re all a bit nuts,’ she reckoned. ‘We just have to embrace our craziness. It’s the people who don’t think they’re mad that we need to worry about.’

‘We can still cancel the piano lessons if you like,’ Gramps said.

I stared into my plate and thought about it. She’d offered to give them for free. It would be rude to say no. ‘I’ll keep at it,’ I told him, even though I hated the idea.

Gramps set down his baguette and gave me a smile. ‘You’ve had a tough time. A little trouble with nerves no doubt.’ He tapped my solicitor’s letter. ‘But it’s over now, Ollie. Everything’s going to be great from now on.’

Nerves. That sounded about right. A little trouble with nerves.