Her grandmother’s head shot up. ‘Oh no!’

‘Now, Gran. It’s time to bury the hatchet. Surely? While you and Grandpa were ill, I couldn’t have managed without their help.’

‘Well, Rob was good, I’ll grant you that, but . . .’

‘And who do you think’s looked after your two cows and brought the milk across every day?’

‘Well . . .’

‘And where did all those lovely soups and jellies and blancmanges to try and tempt Grandpa’s appetite come from, do you think? ’Cos I didn’t have time to make them.’

Esther stared at Ella and then blinked. ‘Oh,’ she said, and stirred the knife in her pastry thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t realized . . .’

‘No, Gran. I don’t think you had. But it’s time you did and high time you thought about it. I nipped across there one day to phone Peggy and there was Grandma Eland and Rosie with their heads together trying to think what they could bake that you’d both enjoy and that would “perk you up a bit”, as Grandma Eland said herself.’

‘Did she? Did she really?’

Ella nodded and added quietly, ‘She came before, too, didn’t she? Before I came home, to try and help you?’

Esther’s eyes were downcast. ‘I dun’t remember.’

Ella wasn’t sure whether or not she believed her, but she let it go.

Now there was silence in the kitchen, whilst Ella waited, leaning against the door frame with her arms folded, watching her grandmother rolling the pastry over and over.

‘So,’ Esther said at last, without looking up. ‘What do you want me to bake for this ’ere party, then?’

On the day of the party, the first Saturday in December, the weather was unusually kind. A bright winter sun and a light breeze seemed determined to smile benignly on all Ella’s efforts. She had worked tirelessly the previous week, scrubbing and cleaning until the whole house shone, baking and cooking, and early on the Saturday morning, she was outside feeding the hens and sweeping the yard.

‘’Tain’t Royalty coming, is it?’

Ella looked up to see her gran standing in the doorway, hands on hips surveying her farmyard. Ella stared at her for a moment and sent up a silent prayer of thanks: her gran was almost her old self again, just as the doctor had promised, although she got tired a little quicker than Ella remembered. Her hair, pure white now, was neatly cut and shaped and washed to shining health. Her face had filled out and the awful gaunt, haggard look had gone. There were a few more lines on her face, but the green eyes flashed fire once more when something didn’t suit her.

But this morning, she was smiling.

‘Not quite Gran . . .’

‘Grannie . . .’ she corrected automatically, but absently.

‘But just as important – to me, anyway.’