‘You’ll have to speak to Daniel about that.’ I wiped my own eyes on the sleeve of my dress. ‘But I’m sure you’d be very welcome.’

Later that afternoon, we gathered the crowds to unveil two brand new, very special features in the orchard. The first, a sculpture of a bridge, designed by the children of Ferrington Primary. It was a bit of a jumbled mess, if I was being honest, but from what I could tell, the various shapes carved into the wood included some boats, ducks, apples and bees, various people holding hands and I think what might have been a tableau of Sylvia Jackson collapsed with anaphylactic shock while Ziva stuck a needle about the size of her own arm in her chest.

Of course, nobody cared that the standard wasn’t quite what we’d hoped for. When the new, youthful recruits to the Ferrington Carpentry Club pulled off the sheet, you could have heard the whistles and cheers all the way across the river.

After the requisite speeches, everyone moved a few feet across to where a large hole had been dug near the orchard fence. Daniel stood, holding onto a tree sapling, his face a blend of sorrow and pride.

‘It’s a cherry tree,’ he told the onlookers. ‘My sister Charlie’s favourite. Although I think she loved the blossom more than the fruit. Either way, I know she’d be so happy to see the orchard coming back to life. This was her favourite place, so I wanted to include something beautiful, in her memory.’

‘She was a wonderful young woman,’ Sylvia Jackson called out. ‘I was honoured to have her in my class.’

While some onlookers rumbled in assent, Daniel beckoned for his mum to come forwards. With trembling hands, Billie held the sapling while Daniel filled the hole with soil, and together they patted it down and gave it a good watering. Hope was invited to help with her own little watering can, although most of it ended up down her playsuit rather than anywhere near the tree.

It was as the spontaneous applause began to die down that another wave of interest rippled through the crowd.

My heart plummeted.

I knew that reaction. I’d witnessed it far too many times before.

Someone famous had entered the vicinity.

Thankfully, before I could do anything other than try to remember how to breathe, Alice spotted it too. Grabbing Becky with a look of unbridled glee, she stopped, smoothed her hair into place, took a deep breath in and out and then weaved around the outside of the now transfixed group of onlookers to where the new arrival stood, fanning her face with one hand, taking rapid fire selfies with the other.

Lucy – Nora – had changed. While she’d purposely adopted a similar look and hairstyle to mine for the time she’d been working as my stand-in, she now wore her hair in a waist-length tumble of auburn extensions. Most of her face was covered in huge, round sunglasses, emphasising pursed, fuchsia lips. She wore black denim shorts that were smaller than most of my underwear, and a white shirt knotted above her belly button, snakeskin wedge-heeled sandals on the end of her toned legs. I could see why Lucy hadn’t had as much time to write reviews lately. That stomach had looked quite different a few months ago. She’d been working hard.