Needless to say I bridled at the unrenovated. Had Barry no tact? He’d certainly no idea of the years of toil it had taken Greg and me to rip out the Formica kitchen units and sand the floors and raid skips for shutters and fireplaces; of the thrill and exhaustion of creating a home. Barry hadn’t been born then, of course, nor had my children. This long-lost age was now bathed in a golden glow; it was a time of newly married love, and neighbours who would soon become our dearest friends and who were also hammering and painting and throwing impromptu dinner parties. And soon the babies came thick and fast and we carted them around in slings and thought: nothing’s going to change us, it’ll always be like this. Those days seemed so innocent now, those days of laughter and flirtation, my jeans spattered with paint and my breasts leaking milk.

I accepted an offer from a Chinese family who were relocating to London. I think the husband was a physicist. I chose them because they offered the asking price and could pay cash. They wanted to exchange as soon as possible and complete in March.

‘I can’t blame you,’ said Pam. ‘I’m sure it’s hard to resist that sort of money. And I’m not a racist but I can’t help noticing that the neighbourhood’s changed. You hardly hear English being spoken any more. Still, that won’t be your problem.’

The house was in my name; it was mine to sell. I’d told the children my plans and for once they both agreed—Great idea, Mum, you need a change.

My euphoria didn’t last. The moment I signed the papers I was hit by the enormity of it all. Was I mad, to step into the unknown? I’d be alone in a strange town. ‘You’re so brave,’ said Bethany, giving me one of her penetrating stares. I’d never been to Deal in the winter, with the arcades closed and the dark streets lashed with gales. Maybe I’d even miss Pam. And how on earth was I going to pack up my life? Even the understairs cupboard would take me a week. I glanced inside and slammed the door with a shudder.