‘I know,’ giggled Rita. ‘But it’s so bad up there we can’t find anything.’ She scraped a bit of margarine onto a slice of toast. ‘And after that I’m doing our washing before going up to the Memorial to see Peter. He didn’t look too good yesterday, and I want to make sure he’s okay.’

‘He’s overdone things, silly boy,’ said Peggy briskly.

Rita sighed. ‘That’s Australian men for you, Auntie Peg – stubborn as mules and determined to prove they’re tough.’

Peggy giggled. ‘You could be describing men the world over. My Jim’s the same.’ She caught the sound of people moving about in the bathroom and on the landing, and the hum of Cordelia’s stairlift descending to the hall. ‘Well, you take care on that motorbike, and don’t forget it’s your turn to cook the tea with Sarah before you go on duty tonight. Alf the butcher dropped off some mince earlier, so you can fry it with onions and make a shepherd’s pie with the leftover veg and a fresh mash topping.’

Rita finished her toast and took Daisy upstairs with her just as Sarah and Danuta came into the kitchen with Cordelia, swiftly followed by Fran and Robert. Fran and Danuta were in their nurse’s uniforms and Sarah was wearing a sprigged cotton frock and thick white cardigan for her work at the council offices.

Peggy thought they looked a little less exuberant this morning, which was hardly surprising, but Robert was chirpier, freshly shaved and very smart in a three-piece suit. As for Cordelia, she was looking quite exhausted, and Peggy felt a dart of concern. Cordelia had celebrated her eightieth birthday just before Christmas, and was as small and frail as a bird despite her usual boundless enthusiasm for parties and sherry. Like Peter, she’d clearly been overdoing things.

Sarah settled her great-aunt at the table and poured her a cup of tea. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to have your breakfast in bed this morning?’ she asked gently.

‘I’m not in the habit of lying in when there are things to be done,’ Cordelia replied, twiddling to get the volume right on her hearing aid. ‘Besides, I hate getting crumbs in the bed.’

‘What things need doing, Cordelia?’ asked Peggy. ‘If you give me a list, I’m sure I can nip out at lunchtime and do them for you.’

‘Just this and that,’ she replied airily. ‘No need to molly-coddle me, Peggy. I’m perfectly capable, you know.’ She looked at Peggy over her half-moon glasses. ‘Where are the newspapers? You know I can’t eat breakfast without having something to read.’

‘They haven’t arrived yet,’ Peggy replied, placing the porridge in front of her. ‘But there are a couple of letters from your son’s family in Canada. Why don’t you read them until the papers come?’