‘You spoil them,’ Peg says, winking up over the side of the basket as Basil and Salt rush up to grab their share. ‘They’re not even laying at the moment!’

‘They will,’ I say. ‘In spring.’

‘Not much use until then.’ He sighs. He does love a good egg. ‘We could always have chicken for dinner . . .’

‘Peg!’

I turn to the orchard, a dozen stocky apple and pear trees, their leaves golden brown now and starting to drift to the ground. In the summer, I climb up and read in the branches of my favourite tree – the one closest to the boundary, where the fork between two branches is wide and smooth.

The apples are small and sweet, their skin a dusky pink that bleeds into pale yellow. I leave the ones that have already been half eaten by insects and gather the rest, carefully dropping them into the basket. Peg organizes them as I go, so that by the time we’ve finished, they look like a rolling sunrise.

‘Very pretty,’ I say, carting them into the kitchen, just as the front gate squeaks, setting off a row of tiny bells over the fireplace. ‘Mrs Mandrake!’

‘She’ll be happy you’re going to school,’ says Nan, settling into the armchair and stoking the flames with a wave of her hand. ‘Always on about it, she was.’

‘I didn’t realize,’ I say, picking up my list, unfolding it, and folding it again.

‘Oh, she did it on the quiet. Little hints – worried you’d be lonely.’

‘Imagine that,’ I say, watching through the window as Mrs Mandrake bobs around the side of the house before knocking on the kitchen door. She pulls a trailer with her, loaded with food, and I rush to help unpack it as Nan gathers all her strength to look like a real, flesh-and-blood person. There’s bacon, and chestnuts, a jar of cocoa, a fruit loaf and orange juice, a bag of oats, dried pasta, and a basket of tomatoes and shiny bell peppers.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I say when we’re done putting it away, and Mrs Mandrake sits at the table opposite Nan and looks down at my list. Her brown eyes are dancing when she looks up again.

‘What’s this about scented pens?’ she asks with a smile. ‘And a calculator? A PE kit! Did you win her over, Stella?’

‘No. She was flagrantly disobedient and off she went without permission,’ Nan says. ‘And she’s determined to continue, so we’re calling it a trial period.’

‘Good job,’ Mrs Mandrake says. ‘About time she got herself out there in the world.’

Nan huffs, and Mrs Mandrake winks at me. And then she dashes back out to her truck to get the crumpets to go with the tea, and I light the fire. I love Mrs Mandrake’s visits.

The warm feeling stays long after Mrs Mandrake leaves for her other errands, and even after Nan has disappeared again. Peg stays close, and after we’ve eaten all the chestnuts and about half the fruit loaf, I head out in a bit of a dream to set the charms.