‘Nonsense, Ellen. First, it’s nowt to do with you that it rained so hard, and why shouldn’t you be proud of a job well done, anyway? And second, I happen to know that Mrs Stellion sometimes comes out here of an evening, when it’s fine, and sits on that bench and has a little think or a little read of one of her books, and very much notices her rose garden. She may not do owt in terms of digging it, but that’s what we’re here for, and don’t forget we get to enjoy it while it’s looking good too.’

Ellen wiped her tears away and gave a wobbly smile. ‘Of course, you’re right, Uncle Tom … er, Mr Arnold. It’s not our garden but we’re lucky to be able to share in it a little.’

‘Now you’re thinking straight, lass; thinking like a proper gardener. And while Nature can destroy, it can heal too. And if it does the first, then, in turn, it will surely do the second. There’ll be another flush of roses later and, you never know, they could be all the stronger.’

Ellen nodded and lifted her head. ‘Yes. Thank you, I feel better now.’

‘Now off you go home. I’ll tidy up here. I saw your mum a minute or two back waiting at this end of the drive for you. It’ll be just you and her when you first get home tonight.’

Funny how Uncle Tom instinctively understood her, thought Ellen, gathering her gloves and making for the shed where she’d left her bag, before joining her mother in the drive.

‘Tom says the garden’s a mess,’ said Dora, putting her arm round Ellen’s weary shoulders.

‘Aye, it was awful, but we’ve both been working on it and we’re getting it nice again,’ said Ellen.

‘Are you all right, love? Looks like you’ve been crying.’

‘A bit, Mum. It was like all our hard work had gone to waste, but Uncle Tom says it will sort itself out, with our help, in the end. He’s such a kind man, isn’t he? He makes me think that everything will be all right after all.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Dora. ‘Sometimes he makes me think that, too.’

Dora extracted the key from behind the boot scraper and unlocked the door.

‘Right, just us till Dad gets home,’ she said, stepping inside. She pulled a greaseproof-paper parcel from her shopper. ‘And look what I’ve got. Mrs Bassett said they were left over and I could take them.’ She opened the bag to show Ellen some pieces of shortbread.

‘Oh, what a treat. We haven’t had cake for days … weeks, even.’

‘Makes a nice change to have summat special with our tea. I’ll put the kettle on, love, and you go and change out of those mucky breeches.’