Securing a longer stay in Crow’s Nest Cottage was exactly what I had wanted, but the thought of breaking the news to Dad I could live without. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get away with another text and a quick message via Joan but I was going to go all out and try not to worry about it for the next few days. I could leave my phone undisturbed in the cottage and immerse myself in the role of joint pub event organizer, safe in the knowledge that I now had plenty of time to work my way through Mum’s diary at a healthier pace.

Sam and I had started working on a list of potential ideas straightaway and by the time the shops opened on Saturday morning I had added a few more. There were some things I knew he would never give the green light for, but I figured seeing the expression on his face when he read them would be great entertainment. For me, if no one else.

Wide awake as if my usual early alarm had called me and with Sophie’s welcome pack beginning to look a little depleted (which was a big surprise, given the amount it had included), I decided to walk to the shops and restock. I might have been keen to wind down and relax a bit, but my body clock was going to take considerably longer to reset.

I joined the queue in the fishmonger’s, craning my neck to get a look at what was on offer and feeling right at home among the other customers with the reusable shopping bag Sophie had left in the cottage tucked under my arm. It might not have been my usual shopping experience – a last-minute, end of the day rush around the Tesco Metro – but it felt good to be giving some thought to what I wanted to eat and plan out a meal or two, rather than grabbing whatever was closest and would be ready after two minutes in the microwave and by the time I’d uncorked a bottle of wine.

‘What can I get you?’ asked the woman behind the counter, when it was finally my turn to be served.

I seemed to have been waiting for ages. Everyone in front of me had taken so long, what with the chatting and catching up on each other’s news, but no one seemed to mind. There was no self-service aisle here and there were no impatient eye rolls or foot taps either.

‘These crabs,’ I said, pointing at one of the things on the ice bed that I could definitely identify. ‘Do I have to do anything with them before I eat them?’

‘No, my love,’ said the woman. ‘They’re dressed already, so they’re ready to eat. Lovely in a salad.’

They were also pretty good in Sophie’s curry I remembered.

‘I’ll have one of those then, please.’