‘Probably helps if you wear a bathing costume.’ Ben raises an eyebrow and my cheeks flush as I’m suddenly reminded of him catching me skinny-dipping.

‘Right. OK, so who’s for cheese toasties?’

And, ducking my head into the fridge, I suddenly get very busy with a large block of farmhouse Cheddar and a wholemeal loaf.

As it turns out, I end up making rather more toasties than I envisaged, because not only does Valentine return with Harry – much to Stanley’s delight – but Maya turns up unannounced with a bunch of flowers, as a thank you for helping her with her grades. It’s the first time I’ve had people, other than builders, in my new kitchen and as I quickly clear away my papers and put the flowers into a vase on the table, it feels almost like an impromptu house-warming.

Only with cups of tea, rather than prosecco; and with the host dressed not in a nice party dress, but in the first thing she found this morning, crumpled on the bedroom floor, and threw on. Still, at least I got to nip upstairs and put on a bra.

‘Thanks, love.’

I take a cup now to Valentine, who’s sitting in a deckchair in the garden. It’s late summer and everything is beginning to fade and slow. Behind him the deep blue blooms of the hydrangea bushes are turning pale green, while bumble bees buzz drowsily. Stanley is flopped next to him on the bleached grass with Harry, listening to Valentine pointing out all the different birds. He looks fascinated.

‘None of them have ever used my bird feeder, though,’ I grumble, looking at it hanging in the tree, untouched.

‘They will.’

‘But it’s been months.’ Unconvinced, I pass him his mug of Tetley.

‘Maybe they’re scared,’ suggests Stanley, who’s taken off his ear defenders and has them resting around his neck. ‘New things can be scary.’

‘When they’re ready, they’ll come. You’ll see,’ reassures Valentine, raising his tea to his lips, before stopping to stare at it warily.

‘Sorry, it might be strong,’ I apologize. I know how particular Valentine is about his tea. It’s bad enough that I only have mugs; I daren’t even tell him it’s not loose-leaf. Turns out I don’t have to.

‘There’s something floating in it.’

Oh God, the teabag. I’ve forgotten to take it out. ‘Oh. Sorry! I was distracted . . . here, let me get a spoon.’

But before I’ve finished, Valentine gamely fishes it out with his fingers.

‘Don’t worry. It’s a smashing cup of tea.’

And, trying not to grimace, he takes an enthusiastic gulp.

I take the offending teabag back into the kitchen, where I find Maya at the Aga, making herself another cheese toastie in the frying pan.

‘Sorry, do you mind? I’m starving.’

‘No, go ahead.’ Marvelling at a teenage figure that can eat three toasted-cheese sandwiches and still look like that in a crop top, I begin clearing up a bit. Four adults, one child and a dog make a lot of mess. ‘So you must be over the moon about going to Manchester.’