Still no sign of Penny. It’s a little baffling, as she’s not even keen on Hamish’s boat: ‘It’s what you’d call basic,’ she’s told me, pulling a face. ‘That chemical loo is not something you’d want to acquaint yourself with, if you could possibly avoid it.’ However, these late autumn days have been blue-skied and crisp, so perhaps they’re making the most of it. Well, good for them. How lovely to be chugging along on our inland waterways! But I hope to God she comes back soon.

Wednesday, November 20

Still no word from Penny. Is Hamish holding her hostage? Has she fallen overboard? Even Nick is growing agitated now, although he pretends he’s not when he drops by briefly, whilst out walking Bobby. ‘Maybe they’ve run off to get married,’ I remark. As a joke, it falls flat.

‘They’re probably just having a lovely time,’ Nick says, and I have to concede he’s probably right. But I’m dying.

Thursday, November 21

Sammia has been photographed in the poncho, and the posters and programme are all ready to go. Miraculously, I’ve managed to stall Hannah from making it all public by explaining that we need Penny’s approval first.

‘It all looks amazing!’ she says, when she calls me just after I’ve arrived home from work. ‘I can’t wait to hear what she says.’

‘Me too,’ I say, trying to radiate positivity. We finish the call, and I gave Izzy a drink and a biscuit in the living room. She’s chattering away about school, and how they’re going to start cross-country running, which she’s a little perturbed about, and her class teacher’s picking a quiz team, which is more her thing. Whilst I’m trying to listen, and reassure her that they won’t be required to run for hours and hours, as rumour suggests, and yes, I’m sure she has a good chance of being picked for the team, I’m still distracted and tense, which seems to have become my near-permanent state over the past few days.

Where the heck is Penny? Of course, she’s entitled to a holiday, I try to reason with myself as I go through to the kitchen and start knocking together a pasta sauce. Her life isn’t bound by any work-related timetable, and maybe she’s decided Hamish’s chemical loo isn’t so bad after all. Or perhaps she’s forced him to abandon the boat and adjourn to a hotel? As for her unwillingness to engage with social media, or even switch on her mobile (what’s the point in having one if it’s always off? ‘Saving the battery!’ is her stock response). Well, I guess that’s fine too. At least fine-ish, until someone needs to ruddy well get hold of her, like me who’s getting pretty desperate—