‘Well, we had a rare good time at the last one, didn’t we?’ she chuckled as she remembered, and hefted the wash basket to the side of the heavy wooden ironing board. ‘It’s hard to believe that it’s been five years already since the town had the first one. And all that money it raised for the hospital, eh? Why, it must have been just before Tom—’

She stopped abruptly and colour burned her cheeks as she realised what she had been about to say – but if Sunday had noticed, she gave no sign, and carried on peeling the potatoes. Cissie meanwhile hastily reached up to remove the bare light bulb that dangled from the ceiling, and plugged the iron into it, thanking the lord for the electricity they now had. It seemed a world ago since she had been forced to do the ironing with flat irons. She could do it in half the time now.

She had just started when Ben strode into the kitchen. As usual he was frowning. Cissie often found it hard to remember the fun-loving boy he had been before he had marched away to war. Like many young men who had been fortunate enough to come home, he had seen things on the battlefield that would haunt him forever. In addition to this, his face and one arm were badly scarred, a fact he had never really come to terms with. At that time, he had been convinced that no one would ever love him looking as he did, but then he had married Maggie. They had been blissfully happy, until she had died in childbirth just a few years after they were wed. The child, a baby boy, had died with her and he had never quite got over it. Now his father’s death seemed to have added to his depression. Cissie knew he had been expecting to inherit Treetops and that he felt resentful because he hadn’t, although she hadn’t said as much to Sunday, who still seemed to find it hard enough to just get through each day, so Cissie had no intention of adding to her worries. But she was determined to do something about that now. To her mind, Sunday had grieved for quite long enough and now it was time to try to bring her back into the real world.

‘I was just sayin’ that I thought it would be nice if we all took some time off to go to the carnival next Saturday,’ Cissie told Ben, as he helped himself to a cup of tea from the big brown teapot standing on the range. ‘Do you fancy comin’?’

Ben snorted as he threw himself onto a chair. ‘And why would I want to do that? I’ve horses to look after and accounts to keep. Besides, Blaze is due to have her foal anytime. I need to be here.’