‘You’ve done more than enough, Isobel,’ I say. ‘Looking after Joe all this time. I can sort out the clothes. It’s fine, really.’

She regards me for a moment, her expression a mixture of confusion and pity.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, taking her coat from the back of the armchair. ‘I have a tendency to over-fuss, I know. It’s just I’ve never had kids and – well … I always thought I’d have a brood of them by now.’

She’s a young woman yet she acts so much older than her years. It’s curious. The sadness in her eyes makes me think that she’s been hurt in the past.

‘You’re very good with Joe,’ I say as we walk to the door. ‘It seems to come so naturally to you, unlike me.’

‘Children make me happy,’ she says, her eyes suddenly glistening with tears. ‘Though I’ve reconciled myself to not being a mum now. My father says it’s God’s will but it’s still quite tough to take.’

‘Oh, Isobel, I didn’t realize,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have –’

‘No, please,’ she says, wiping her face briskly. ‘I’m fine. I’ve had a long time to get used to it.’

She smiles and I see something of myself in her expression, a fragility I hadn’t noticed before.

‘Anyway, it was a pleasure,’ she says as I open the door. ‘You’ve got a lovely boy there. A right little sweetheart.’

‘Yes,’ I say, though I suddenly feel anxious at the thought of Isobel leaving. Joe is calm when she’s here. If only he could be like that with me.

She smiles then pats my shoulder reassuringly as if reading my mind.

‘It will get better,’ she says. ‘I promise you.’

I nod my head briskly, trying to keep the tears that are gathering at bay.

‘Oh, and if you’re peckish later,’ she says, stepping out into the dark December evening, ‘I’ve popped a couple of jacket potatoes in the oven. They’ll be perfect with a can of beans warmed up on top. Give them another forty-five minutes and they’ll be nice and crispy.’

‘Isobel, you shouldn’t have,’ I say. ‘You’ve done so much for us already.’

‘It’s nothing,’ she says, wrapping her scarf round her shoulders. ‘Just a couple of spuds I had going spare. Poor Dad’s got no appetite these days and I’m trying to avoid carbs. Better that you and Joe enjoy them than they go to waste. Oh, and I also left you a newspaper. One of the parishioners left it behind after the service this morning. I’m not much of a newspaper person but I thought you might like a read.’

‘Thanks, Isobel,’ I say. ‘For everything. I really do appreciate it.’

‘Not a problem,’ she says. ‘And, listen, if you need anything, anything at all, you’ve got my number. Okay?’

I nod my head.

‘You get inside,’ she calls. ‘It’s freezing out here and I think you’ve had enough fresh air for one day.’

‘A girl can never have enough fresh air,’ I say, remembering her words. ‘That’s what she always used to say.’