A chicken began to peck at Nola’s shoe. She lifted her foot and sent the chicken flapping and squawking. ‘When you’re there, you just have to ask her to dance and then when you get her on the dance floor, say to her, “I have a notion for you, Peggy,” just like that. Look her in the eyes and smile when you say it. She will understand. And before you know it, you’ll be married, in your own house, and with a babby on the way.’

Pete looked amazed. ‘Are you sure?’

Nola tutted. ‘Oh, here we go – now you’re doubting me after I gave you the best advice anyone has ever given to you for free. Go on, help yourself to a porter. I have Bridget waiting in the kitchen – she’ll be in me bed for the night if I take much longer.’

Half an hour later, with the apples stewed and the pies in the oven, Nola sat in the chair opposite Bridget at the side of the fire and held out her cup. ‘Read me tea leaves then, Bridget. Tell me, do you see Pete in there, dancing with Peggy in the long hall?’

Bridget reached out and took the cup from Nola’s outstretched hand. Her hat was held firmly in place with a hatpin and she still had her moth-eaten black woollen coat on, though it was unbuttoned and fell loosely down the side of the chair, revealing her faded floral apron beneath.

‘Pete and Peggy, you say? Well now, I would never have put those two together, despite neither of them having settled down. Pete is too steady altogether for Peggy – ’tis a film star she’s after, and saving to flit to America.’ Bridget tipped the cup towards the fire and flicked it by the handle to expel the last drops of tea. The flames spat back at her as she caught the light and frowned.

‘Well, do you see them?’ Nola shuffled forward on the chair, her knees apart in an unladylike manner, her modesty protected by her long, unfashionable skirt and her clasped hands hanging down between. Her cheeks shone apple rosy and beads of sweat from the effort of baking and sitting too close to the fire perched on her top lip. The light from the one lamp that sat on the three-legged wooden table, carved by Daedio, cast a glow over the two of them. She picked up her glasses and placed them on the bridge of her nose, as though she were the one reading the leaves, not Bridget.

‘I need them to concentrate,’ she said in response to Bridget’s raised eyebrow.

‘I’m the one who needs to concentrate,’ said Bridget. ‘Well then,’ she continued, ‘I do not see Peggy and Pete in your cup at all.’

‘Oh God in heaven.’ Nola removed her glasses and almost dropped them onto the table. ‘He’s as miserable as sin itself up there, so he is,’ she said, gesturing in the direction of the old house. ‘Will you get a better reading if I make us another and drop a bit of whiskey into it this time?’