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

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.

The aroma of coffee greeted her as she walked into the small kitchen and found Alex there.

‘Morning.’ His voice was deep and husky, like he hadn’t long been out of bed. In fact, with his hair askew that was what it looked like. Desire filled her as he plunged the coffee then pushed the door open on the cabinet that covered the north wall. ‘Your mother up?’

‘Yes, sitting with Gran.’