Sundays. Even as a child I hated them. When Mum was alive she would alleviate the dread by making the day truly fun-packed. She’d take me out for a big walk up to Caversham Park pond to feed the ducks and we’d have hot chocolate with marshmallows at the cafe. Home in time for Sunday roast with all the trimmings, including cauliflower cheese, my absolute favourite, then a warm bubbly bath before bed, tired and happy. So very happy. But Sundays after she died were never the same. That was when the Sunday-night feeling intensified and the smell of roast beef and Yorkshire puddings no longer made my mouth water. Monday mornings loomed with the incessant questions from pupils and teachers alike as to how I was coping and did I miss my mum. Then home time, where I would have to navigate a sea of mothers before escaping into Georgie’s battered old VW Beetle. She still lived in Reading in those days and would leave work early to come and collect me from school then wait until Dad got back from the office at 6 p.m. And though she would try hard to do the things Mum had done – making me snacks, checking if I had homework to do, asking about my day – it just wasn’t the same. I was ten years old and I needed my mum. Georgie was twenty-three and needed to concentrate on her own life. We were at opposite ends of the spectrum, with Dad, grief-stricken and bewildered, floating somewhere in between.

Now here I am again, running back to her like a needy child.

‘The Antiques Roadshow is comforting,’ says Jack, turning up the volume. ‘The televisual equivalent of chicken pie.’

Georgie glances at me and raises her eyebrows.

‘What would you like to watch, Vanessa?’ she says, taking a sip from the glass of Chablis that she has balanced on the slim side table. ‘There must be something a bit more interesting on. How about we try Netflix?’

‘This is fine,’ I say, taking a bite of pie. The pastry sticks in my throat. ‘Like Jack says, it’s comforting.’

‘Well, what a pair of old biddies you are,’ says Georgie, putting her plate on the table and tucking her feet underneath her. ‘It’s been going for donkey’s years this programme. Mum used to love it. Remember how she used to go and raid the loft and the cabinets, Vanessa, to see if she had any priceless antiques hidden away?’