‘Tom’s the fête treasurer,’ Ellen reminded Dora, ‘so I’ll just nip into the Lodge and leave him the garden money. I think we did quite well, considering the showers. Go on ahead, if you want.’

‘All right, love. I’ll just call out good night and you can catch me up.’

She did this and continued on her way, while Ellen left her toffee tin full of pennies with Tom, then ran after her.

When they arrived at Highview Cottage, Philip was sitting in his chair scowling.

‘Put the kettle on, love,’ Dora said to Ellen. ‘Phil, would you like a cup of tea?’

He ignored her as if he thought her beneath speaking to.

Ellen and Dora exchanged worried glances and Ellen’s eyes were wide. This looked to be exactly the situation she had been anxious about, but how could they avoid it? They had to come home.

‘Make a pot, love, and we’ll see,’ said Dora quietly. ‘So how much do you reckon you made from the garden visitors?’ she went on, trying to behave as if nothing was wrong; as if the atmosphere wasn’t tense with Phil’s temper ready to explode.

‘Between seven and eight shillings, I think. We were quite busy.’

‘That’s good,’ said Dora, distractedly. Even to her own ears the conversation sounded stilted and unnatural.

‘And at least this year no one tried to steal the flowers.’

‘Steal the flowers? I’ve never heard owt like it.’

‘Yes, Uncle Tom told me—’ Ellen stopped abruptly, her hand over her mouth. How could she have been so stupid?

Of course, Philip leaped on her slip-up. ‘Uncle Tom, Uncle Tom … all I ever hear is Tom this and Tom that. You’d think he lived here, not me. It’s like he’s haunting the place – or mebbe I am. Mebbe I’m the one who’s the spare fella, what with Tom making his presence felt all the time, even when he isn’t here.’

‘I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean to upset you. It was just summat he said this afternoon.’

‘Oh, aye? Well, I heard some stuff myself this afternoon. I’ve no doubt Tom’s full of interesting stories to entertain you and your mum. How you must hate coming home and finding it’s only me here and not Tom, with his winning ways, and his handsome face and his charm. So tall and so clever and so popular, and a job in the posh garden at the Hall, not up to his neck in sheep—’

‘Phil, calm down,’ said Dora tiredly. ‘I don’t want to hear any more about it.’

‘I’m sure you don’t. And we all know why that is, don’t we?’