The track was narrow with grass growing in the centre and plenty of craters. There were fields on either side but not a lot else. I walked on and just when I thought I’d somehow gone the wrong way I saw a roof. The house was in a dip off to the right, hidden by a row of tall trees where the track dropped down to it. An old wooden gate looked like it hadn’t been closed in a while and a well-worn sign read Providence Farm. The house was a bit like how a child would draw a farmhouse; all symmetrical, with a central door, a large window either side and three above, each one split into tiny panes.

There was an arched portico and a white-painted front door. I knocked on the door while trying to take in my surroundings. This wasn’t what I’d expected at all.

‘You found it,’ said Maggie, opening the door. She looked red in the face and the sleeves on her oversized swirly-patterned shirt were rolled up. ‘Come in.’ She disappeared inside leaving me to shut the door. The hall was about the same size as my bedroom. I took my jacket off. It was chilly but I couldn’t put my jacket back on without appearing rude. There were a series of coat hooks or at least I guessed there were but they were hidden under a lifetime’s collection of coats and cardigans. I placed my jacket on top of another coat and hoped it stayed there.

‘Come through,’ came Maggie’s disembodied voice. I followed the shiny pavement-style flooring through to the kitchen where it was far warmer. Maggie was draining something at the sink. ‘I got some Coke.’ She nodded at a large bottle on the table. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’ It was proper branded Coke. We always had the cheap stuff at home. Dad said it wasn’t worth it because when I chugged it I never tasted it anyway.

‘Glasses are in the end cupboard.’ She tilted her head to guide me. I chose a large glass, poured a drink and sat and watched while she scurried about. Something smelled good but I couldn’t work out exactly what it was.

Eventually she clapped her hands together and spun in my direction. ‘We have an hour before dinner. So drink up and I’ll show you the problem.’

I’d only had a few sips but I downed the rest, carefully managed a burp and followed her out of the kitchen and into a tiny room full of buckets, brooms and footwear.

‘What size are you?’ she asked as she rooted through a selection of wellington boots.

‘Nine, I think. Maybe a ten.’ My school shoes were tight again.