Romy had met Maureen a few weeks ago, when they’d got chatting in the village deli. Keith, who owned the shop with his wife, had given them both some goat’s cheese from a nearby farm to taste. And when Romy professed an interest in local organic produce, Maureen had suggested Romy come with her to the farmers’ market the following Saturday.

Even a couple of months ago, Romy would not have got involved in chatting to anyone – in fact, she chose the anonymous supermarket by the big roundabout into town over the deli for that very reason. Nor would she have agreed so readily to Maureen’s plan. But the old lady was straightforward and funny – and didn’t ask prying questions. Romy found herself looking forward to seeing her again, after months of avoiding the world.

‘Coffee?’ Romy asked now.

‘If you’re making it. I won’t stay long. I just have a proposition to put to you.’

Intrigued, Romy went over to her new pod machine. Michael came unwillingly to mind as she waited for the cup to fill. He had refused to have one, saying they were a waste of space, that the coffee was lukewarm and there wasn’t enough of it. But she was thrilled with her purchase – as she was with so much else in her new life.

Now, taking the milk from the fridge, she caught sight of the letters Maureen had handed her, which she’d slung onto the counter. The top one was handwritten – unusual, these days. She knew it came from Uncle Geoff, an old friend of her parents, now in his nineties. But the cream envelope and black ink reminded her of another, much more significant one. Immediately she felt a spike of unease, unable to prevent the familiar words from flashing through her mind: This is a difficult letter to write …

Brushing away the thought, she carried the cups of coffee outside. Nothing was going to spoil her mood of optimism this morning.

‘So,’ said Maureen, when they were settled on the rickety wooden bench on the patio, toes brushing the unopened box, ‘I thought from what you said – and now that you’re here full time – you might be interested in doing some conservation work.’

Romy waited for her to go on.

‘It’s voluntary, of course. But there’s a group of us meet up at Ebernoe Common on Mondays – do you know it? North of Petworth, a wildlife reserve. We do coppicing and clearing bracken, monitoring wildlife, that sort of thing. But we also bring picnics and put the world to rights.’ She gave her an appraising look, amusement in her eyes. ‘It’s hard work, but you don’t look like a wimp.’

Romy grinned. ‘I would absolutely love to join you, Maureen. What a wonderful idea.’