‘Good morning, Mr Trewin and happy birthday.’ Mrs Hoskine was walking out of the drawing room carrying Diana’s diary. Diana raced forward. She had forgotten she’d left it sitting on the piano. She would have to be more careful.

‘There’s fresh tea and coffee in the dining room,’ she paused, and held out the diary, ‘and this, young lady, is yours – although it took me a while to discover that, as you wrote your name in the back and not the front.’ Diana thought about this. Maybe she needed to write it in the front, too.

Diana took it and said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Hoskine.’

‘Should I bring coffee upstairs to Mrs Trewin?’

Daddy smiled. ‘I think she’ll be down shortly.’ He picked up the papers and walked into the dining room. He hadn’t answered Diana’s question. She would ask again later.

She went into the office, put her diary on the big leather covered desk and pulled out the chair.

Morning Diary,

The house was so quiet when I came downstairs. Just the old long clock ticking in the hall. I’m in the office now. The sun is filling the room and I have to squint as I write, it’s so bright. In the distance I can see Mr Hoskine raising the flag on the front lawn. The flag doesn’t flutter. I hope Daddy is right about the wind.

I will need to practise the piano more later. Madame Roscova will be cross with me if I haven’t practised. It was fun playing with Daddy. He can be so silly and I love him so much.

Uncle Tom is walking in the garden with his hair all pushed up like he has been running his hand through it. Daddy has joined him outside. They looked serious. It must be because of the lack of wind.

I smell bacon cooking and I’m hungry again. I’ll write more later, Diary.

27

Lottie

4 August 2018, 7.15 a.m.

While she waited for the coffee to brew, Lottie tackled the cobwebs in the hallway with a feather duster. At least the entrance no longer looked like a set for a Halloween film. With the warm dry weather and the missing daily help, the spiders were having a great time. After she delivered the coffee to her mother, she would tackle some hoovering. With a minimum of effort, Boskenna would be back to how her grandmother liked it. She could do that. It wasn’t much but it was something.

She checked to see if Gramps was in the snug, but there was no sign of him. He must be in the garden somewhere. Although it was ten degrees cooler than in London, the air blowing through the open front door was already warm. She pulled off her fuzzy dressing gown and put it on the bottom of the stairs to take up to her room later.

All her summer memories were tinged with the feel of the sun and scent of the sea, yet when she looked through photographs many were of her in an old cagoule or Guernsey, braving the wind and the rain. Who was she fooling? Her memories centred on her summer with Alex. The heat of the sun, the warmth of their bodies and the soundtrack of Gramps’ old vinyl records and the endless repeat of Sam Sparro’s ‘Black and Gold’ on the radio as they drove to the north coast for the surf.