‘All right,’ said Beamish, sounding deflated. ‘I’ll take you to the cottage.’

Located just a short walk from the town, but tucked away enough to feel a part of the nearby countryside, Dolly’s little cottage was not all that dissimilar from the one Kate Winslet owned in The Holiday. I hadn’t seen the festive film myself, but Dolly had shown me a picture and apart from being built and tiled from different local materials it did bear a striking resemblance with the classic covered front door in the centre, a window either side and two above. There were even roses around the wooden arched porch, or there were when the temperature was higher and the weather kinder. The little place always put me in mind of the sort of houses I drew as a child.

‘Here we are then,’ said Beamish, jumping out almost before he had pulled on the handbrake. ‘Home sweet home, for the next few weeks at least.’

He rushed round to open my door and I stepped out.

‘Here we are indeed,’ I sighed, suddenly remembering the head bumps I was going to be subjected to until I remembered to duck coming down the stairs and through a couple of the doorways. ‘I’d forgotten how cramped this place is.’

I wished I didn’t sound so tired and grumpy. This wasn’t the mood I had wanted to arrive in at all, but the journey from hell and the subsequent soaking, added to my recent lack of sleep, had rather taken the edge off my arrival and usually upbeat attitude.

‘It’s not cramped,’ said Beamish, justifiably correcting my disparaging tone. ‘It’s cosy.’

I didn’t have time to say that his was a far kinder and better suited description.

‘Here you are!’ Dolly shouted, flinging open the front door but not venturing down the path. ‘Here you are at last. What were you doing sitting in the back? For a minute I thought you hadn’t come!’

Beamish started to laugh and I left him to deal with my bags.

‘Dolly,’ I called, rushing to meet her and feeling my bad mood and some of my tiredness ebb away.

She opened her arms and I hugged her tight, but not too tight. She felt even smaller than the last time I held her, if that were possible, and she was stick thin.

‘How are you, Dolly?’ I asked, noticing her hair was definitely whiter than before.

‘I’m fine,’ she said releasing me, ‘but I won’t be if we let the cat out. Let’s get inside before she makes a dash for it. Hurry up will you, Beamish!’

Rather than drop my luggage at the door, he followed us inside, remembering to duck, and deposited my bags at the bottom of the stairs.

‘What cat?’ I questioned as Beamish quickly closed the front door. ‘You haven’t got a cat, Dolly.’