‘Yes, she will,’ Peggy said firmly, ‘and Jonathan certainly will. You don’t want to cause him more worry, now do you?’

Ella pursed her lips against the tears and shook her head.

‘Right, then. You drink your tea and I’ll just nip up to the phone box at the top of the next street and ring the Elands. Danny will go and tell them. What’s his number?’

When Ella had written it on a scrap of paper, Peggy hurried off to telephone leaving Ella sitting hunched near the fire, her hands cupped around the mug of tea.

It seemed ages before Peggy came back. Sitting down in front of her again, before she even took off her coat, Peggy said, ‘I spoke to Danny. He thinks it’s perhaps for the best that you’ve come here for a while. He says there’s been nothing but rows for weeks now. But . . .’ She paused and stressed her next words. ‘He said, “Tell her not to stay away for ever. We all love her.”’

Tears filled Ella’s eyes but did not fall. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. ‘Maybe they do, but not Gran. Gran’s never loved me – and – and I don’t think she ever will.’ She raised her tearstained face. ‘I’m never going back, Aunty Peg. Never!’

Peggy sighed, but all she said was, ‘Never’s a long time, love.’

‘Aunty Peg, do you know who my real father is?’

‘D’you know, I’ve been waiting for that question ever since you got here.’ Peggy smiled.

Ella had been living with Peggy for two weeks.

That first night she had lain awake in the tiny bedroom, listening to the drone of the traffic on the main road passing the top of the street, drifting into sleep and then disturbed by the sudden bang of a door in the adjoining terraced house, the sound of raised voices from the neighbours. She had scrambled out of bed once to peer out of the window to see a drunk weaving his way down the middle of the road, his tuneless singing echoing down the wet street.

She snuggled back into bed but sleep would not come now; the room seemed stifling, the walls so close, the confined space so airless. She got out of bed again and tugged and heaved at the sash window until she could feel a draught of air coming into the room, suddenly with an irrational longing for wide open spaces and freedom. It was so totally unlike the large bedroom at home . . .

Home? Why ever was she calling Brumbys’ Farm ‘home’? she demanded of herself irritably. This was home. Lincoln was home. It always had been, she reminded herself sharply. Never mind what Peggy said, she was not going back to Fleethaven Point. Not ever!