‘No, thanks, love, that’s very kind, but I won’t pay those prices for a couple of slices of bread and a lick of butter. They can shove as many fancy stickers on it as they like, but a sandwich is a sandwich and I can’t bring meself to pay more for one than it costs for a whole loaf of bread. It’s not right.’

‘I’ll treat you?’ Nat offered.

‘No, it’s not who pays that’s the problem, it’s the amount, but thank you, sweetheart.’

‘Okay, well, if you change your mind.’ Natalie let this trail and settled down back into the seat next to her Uncle Philip.

Bess smiled at her. She was a lovely person – both her kids were, and the way these humans had turned out was her greatest achievement. Being in their company made her happy.

‘How much was that scone we had in Knutsford, Jeannie?’ her dad said, breaking into her thoughts.

Natalie looked up from her phone. ‘Oh, for the love of God, Grandad, not the scone story again!’

‘Well, it’s all right for you, Nats, you have a marvellous job, but just you wait until you’re a pensioner,’ her nan said in her husband’s defence. ‘Four pounds seventy-five. Four pounds seventy-five for a scone, which was light on cream and jam – a bloody rip-off! And I told your grandad when we got in the car, I thought it was shop-bought.’

‘Anyway, I thought I paid for it?’ Philip lowered his paper and winked at his sister, happy, oh so happy, to be back in the fold.

Bess relished getting to know her brother all over again, and seeing him interact so easily with their parents and her kids brought nothing but joy. She smiled now at the thought of having been warmly embraced by sweet Nanette, who, post-Zumba class, had welcomed her with open arms and was at that very moment at home in Cheshire, kindly keeping an eye on the business and no doubt preparing lactose-free treats for her husband’s return. Having taken the time to get to know her, Bess could see how she adored Philip and that they were happy – what more could a sister want?

‘You did pay for the scone, Pippin, but that’s not the point!’ Her mum turned to Natalie. ‘Your Uncle Philip is doing very well.’ She spoke as if he wasn’t sitting opposite. ‘Such a lovely home – big pillars up the front, four bedrooms, mock-Georgian, a corner bath with little holders on the side of the tub you can rest your drink in.’ She dipped her chin, her eyes wide, knowing this information couldn’t fail to impress. Bess caught her daughter’s eye and smiled.

‘And don’t forget the underfloor heating and outdoor water feature!’ Philip joined in, chuckling.