Her memories were full of days spent playing on the beach, of crabbing in the rock pools, of squelching around the mudflats in her wellingtons, of lying in the sand dunes, and of hours spent walking through wheat fields and along narrow flint-walled lanes lined with pretty cottages. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the cry of seagulls and smell the salty sea air.

How could her sister ever think that Mum would leave all that to live near Martha and Tom on the outskirts of Cobham? There was nothing wrong with Surrey, of course there wasn’t, but it wasn’t Tilsham. It wasn’t what Mum was used to and where she was happy.

‘So are you free at the weekend to spend the day with Mum?’ asked Martha.

‘Nothing planned as far as I …’ Her words trailed off. ‘Can you smell burning?’ she asked her sister.

‘What do you mean can I smell burning? Of course I can’t!’ ‘Burning,’ repeated Willow, her nose twitching. ‘I can definitely smell—’ She broke off again and leant over the side of the bath.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, realising now what she had tipped off the stool when she’d reached for her mobile. On top of the towel she’d put ready to use was the tray of aromatherapy candles she’d lit earlier.

‘Oh, oh, oh!’ she said again, ‘I seem to be on fire.’

Smoke was indeed coming from a blackened circle and small flickering flames were just taking hold with rivulets of melted wax running everywhere.

‘What?’ demanded Martha in her ear while Willow dithered. ‘What do you mean you’re on fire?’

Tossing her mobile to safety and wincing as it went skittering across the tiled floor, Willow scooped up a handful of water and doused the flickering flames. She then stepped out of the bath, but in her clumsy haste she somehow missed her footing as she reached for another towel and ended up falling sideways and nearly putting a hand down the loo as she tried to keep her balance. All the while she could hear her sister’s voice calling to her from under the radiator asking if she was still there.

A towel now wrapped around her, Willow rescued her mobile.

‘It’s okay, Martha,’ she said, ‘no need to call for any hunky fireman, I’ve put out the fire.’

‘How big a fire?’

‘No more than a flame or two.’

‘But in a bathroom? How is that even possible?’

‘I’ll tell you about it when I see you down at Mum’s. By the way, Saturday or Sunday? Either is good for me.’

‘I’ll check with Mum which day is best for her and get back to you. Just don’t go planning anything else meanwhile.’

The conversation finished, Willow emptied the bath, dried herself and put on her pyjamas. She then folded the ruined towel to take downstairs to put in the bin, grateful that that was all she’d damaged. The thought of having to tell her friends, Lucy and Simon, that she’d burnt down their house made her vow never to light another candle while she was housesitting for them.