Cissie eventually pushed her away and said bossily, ‘Come on then, there’s no point in cryin’ over spilt milk. It’s time we were getting’ on wi’ things if we’re to make this place into a home again.’ And she marched away as Sunday watched her go, thinking whatever else had befallen her, she was truly lucky to have such a wonderful friend.

Two days later, Mr Dixon informed her that Treetops was now officially on the market. Kathy seemed too wrapped up in misery to care but Livvy was still outraged at the thought of having to leave her childhood home.

‘It’s just not fair!’ she ranted to Cissie in the kitchen one evening after work.

Cissie shrugged. ‘That’s one thing you’ll discover as yer get a bit older, pet,’ she said wryly. ‘Life ain’t always fair an’ yer just have to take what it throws at yer an’ get on wi’ things.’ But deep down she truly empathised with the girl. She knew how much she loved her home and wished heartily that things could have been different.

Early in February, Mr Dixon visited again, but this time he hoped with what they would consider good news.

‘I got to thinking,’ he explained as he and Sunday sat in the day room at Treetops. ‘A very good friend of mine who lives in Yorkshire lost his wife some two years ago and he’s staying with me at present. As it happens, he has shares in some of the local businesses here and he mentioned last night over dinner that he was thinking of moving. The house he owns holds too many memories now that his wife is gone, apparently, and he wants a fresh start. He’s already sold his place so he and his grandson, who lives at home with him, are looking for a suitable place here. I mentioned Treetops to him, and he said it sounded just like what he is looking for. So … I was wondering – he goes home the day after tomorrow. Would you like to show him around here before he leaves to see if it would be suitable for them?’

Suddenly the prospect of seeing someone else living in Treetops was very real and Sunday gulped. But then she nodded. She was looking far from her usual tidy self as she and Cissie had been busy in the lodge painting and she appeared to have got more on herself than on the walls.

‘Yes, I could do that,’ she forced herself to say with a weak smile. ‘Do you think eleven o’clock in the morning would suit him?’

‘I’m sure it would,’ Mr Dixon assured her. ‘And don’t worry, he’s aware of the price and doesn’t think it’s unreasonable. His name is John Willerby – he’s a very nice chap and I’m sure you’ll like him.’