‘I’m not sure . . .’ Joe started to say but stopped as a crack of thunder seemed to suck in the walls of the room before releasing them and taking the electricity away with it. ‘Bugger.’

Clearly, the boys were prepared for such eventualities and within minutes the room was bathed in candlelight and Joe was cranking the handle on a wind-up radio while Charlie ran the water to wash up.

‘I was going to say, Tess,’ said Joe, setting the radio down on the table and picking up a tea towel, ‘that if this carries on, I might not be able to get you home tonight.’

‘Are you thinking of those two oaks before the bend?’ Charlie asked.

‘I am,’ Joe confirmed.

‘They should have been felled long before now,’ Charlie tutted.

‘If this wind keeps up,’ said Joe, ‘that might not be an issue.’

‘If either of those are down, you won’t be able to get through at all,’ Charlie pointed out.

‘I don’t mind staying,’ I told them, thinking I didn’t much fancy heading out with the threat of falling oak trees hampering our journey back to Wynmouth. ‘As long as you’ve got a bed and a spare toothbrush I can borrow.’

‘I can manage the toothbrush,’ said Joe, ‘but there’s no bed, I’m afraid. No one sleeps in Mum and Dad’s room.’

‘And Jack’s room is still like a bloody shrine,’ Charlie tutted.

His tone was disapproving and, even by candlelight, I could see how red Joe had turned.

‘Sofa then,’ I said quickly, ‘makes no difference to me. Besides, if this racket keeps up, we won’t any of us be getting much sleep anyway, will we?’

That turned out to be not strictly true. Once the kitchen was set to rights, Joe, Bruce and I moved through to the sitting room, taking the candles and the radio with us, and Charlie said he’d changed his mind about going out and was going to have a bath and turn in. He hadn’t been gone all that long before we heard him snoring somewhere above us.

‘He had an early start,’ Joe grinned, reaching to turn the radio up a bit. ‘And he’s not used to relaxing in the tub. He’s a two-minute shower type of guy as a rule.’

I smiled back.

‘I wonder if it had bubbles,’ I giggled.

‘Or a bath bomb,’ Joe suggested.

I was about to throw essential oils into the mix but was pulled up short by the radio.

‘Whatever is it?’ said Joe, reaching for my arm which was resting along the back of the sofa. ‘You’ve gone as white as anything and you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘This song,’ I stammered, feeling a little dizzy again.

Joe listened for a moment.