She patted her bump. ‘Yeh, a bit over six weeks to go now. I can’t wait. Not for the birth,’ she added hastily, pulling a face. ‘Just to get back to some sort of normality, you know. I’m okay though, thanks. How’s things with you? I see you’re having some work done. Bet that’s not cheap. We don’t have a thatch – I know they look lovely, but it seems like a lot of hassle.’

‘It’s a pricey do, I can tell you. We weren’t expecting to have to get it done quite so soon. But at least once it’s finished, we can forget about it for another few years.’

‘Are you busy? You can come round to mine for a bit if you like.’

I hesitated initially, but then thought I might take her up on the offer. The day felt like a write-off anyway – it wasn’t as if I could get on with anything much at home. ‘Thanks, that would be nice. Is it okay to bring Jobie?’

‘Sure, we can all sit out in the garden. Just ignore the weeds!’

Lucy lived in a row of seventeenth-century terraced cottages on the road out of the village. We stopped en route for her to buy milk from the shop. Judy seemed pleased to see us together.

‘Nice that you’ve found some company of your own age,’ she said to me, as Lucy went to use the cash machine at the back of the store. ‘How are you settling in?’

‘Fine, thank you. We’re having some work done on the roof at the moment – I wanted a rest as I had a rough night last night, but with the racket the thatchers are making, I gave up.’

‘You do look tired. Make sure you take it easy. It’s surprising how exhausting pregnancy can be, even in the early stages.’ We wished Judy a good day and meandered up the road to Lucy’s house. Alfie was keen to lead the way, and Jobie trotted alongside us obediently.

Lucy’s front door opened straight into the living room. The room was smaller than ours, painted cream, with dark exposed beams and a pot-bellied stove sitting on the hearth, in front of which was spread a brightly coloured rug. Washing was airing on an old-fashioned rack suspended from the ceiling.

She hurriedly gathered up the toys and books that were scattered across the varnished wooden floor, shoving them into a large plastic container in the corner. We walked through to the kitchen, where the sink was piled high with dirty crockery, evidence of the morning’s breakfast all over the work surface.

‘’Scuse the mess. I s’pose it’ll get even worse soon – the things we let ourselves in for, eh.’ She grinned, but her cheeks flushed a little. ‘Do you want a cold drink, or would you prefer something hot?’