The Singapore Secret

by Clare Willis

Genres: Friendship; World War II; Sagas; Visionary & Metaphysical; Women's Fiction; 20th Century Romance; Military Romance

Synopsis

A secret letter. A wartime promise. A courageous act of love...

Singapore, 1942: The war is drawing ever closer, and Dorothy faces a heart-rending choice to flee the country she has come to call home. With warplanes advancing across the ocean, she is boarding a boat full of evacuees when something is urgently pressed into her arms.

As enemy fire cuts off all escape routes, Dorothy makes a promise that will echo through the years...

England, 2019: When her beloved grandmother, Dotty, passes away aged one hundred, Annabel discovers letters and photographs hidden in her desk that document a secret life as a young woman in Singapore. But Dotty has never travelled further than her small village in Cornwall... What could have made her conceal this past life? And who is the bridegroom standing proudly next to Dotty in a faded wedding photo, who is clearly not Annabel's grandfather?

Determined to uncover the truth, is Annabel prepared for what she will find?

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 320

Sample

CHAPTER 1

Cornwall

Saturday 9th March, 2019

Annabel Penrose groaned as yet another tractor pulled out in front of her. She eased off the accelerator, looked at her watch and sighed. She couldn’t be late, not today. Sleeping through her alarm had made for a bad start to the day, but she’d been so exhausted after a week of marking her students’ dissertations that she had really needed the rest. 

The argument with Luke hadn’t helped, either. Her stomach sank as she thought back to it, remembering the anger etched all over his normally handsome face. She didn’t think it had been unreasonable to ask her boyfriend of four years where he had been until 3 a.m. that morning or why he hadn’t replied to any of her messages. But apparently it had been ‘controlling and manipulative’, and now she was driving to Cornwall alone. How had it all become so difficult?

The heavy traffic had been the icing on the cake and the journey from Bath to her grandmother’s house on the north coast had taken over an hour longer than usual. The fine spring weather had encouraged everyone to escape to the coast and clog up the M5 motorway in doing so, and the local farmers were out making the most of the sunshine. She took a deep breath and turned up the radio, recognising the start of one of her favourite nineties boy band hits. 

‘Don’t turn left. Please don’t turn left,’ she muttered as the tractor approached the next junction. A flicker of the indicator told her that it was going to do just that. Annabel groaned again, then followed in the wake of the giant machine as it turned off the main road and onto the narrow lane. 

Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat and she stole a quick glance. Mum. For the third time.

Where are you? PLEASE don’t be late!

‘Doing my best, Mum!’ she said through gritted teeth. 

The tractor slowed and indicated again. Sticking his head out of the cabin, the farmer gave her a cheerful wave and disappeared through a narrow gateway. She managed a smile and returned the wave; she couldn’t really be cross with him. With a clear road ahead, she put her foot down, eating up the last couple of miles in a style of which Lewis Hamilton would have been proud. She really mustn’t be late. 

Annabel rounded the last bend and saw the black and white sign: Penrose Farm. She relaxed and felt a warm, fuzzy feeling: she was coming home. She drove between the stone pillars and followed the gravel drive through the trees. The lush, green lawn was a neat tapestry woven with delicate primroses and on either side of the track daffodils danced in the breeze. She had always loved this time of year in Cornwall. With spring flowers emerging and lambs frolicking in the fresh, green fields, it filled her heart with a renewed sense of hope. And she was needing some of that today.

Penrose Farm had felt like home for as long as Annabel could remember. Some of her earliest and fondest memories were here; rolling around on the lawn with her grandparents’ Collie dogs, bottle feeding baby lambs or climbing trees in the woods with her older brother, William. She had never actually lived at the farmhouse full-time, but with her parents often posted overseas for her father’s work, most of her boarding school holidays and exeats had been spent here, with ­Granny Dotty, as she and William called her. She had been their rock, Annabel mused, smiling to herself as she thought of their cheerful, white-haired grandmother.

At the front of the farmhouse was a sea of cars, lined up bumper to bumper, and it was a struggle to find a space. ­After squeezing between her brother’s Audi and the farmer’s mud-splattered Land Rover, Annabel applied a quick slash of lipstick, grabbed her overnight bag from the back seat and made her way to the front door. She ran a hand through her long, dark blonde hair in a bid to tame it and grinned at the gold helium balloons attached to the door handle. ‘Happy 100th birthday!’ they announced.

Her mother’s radar was clearly on high alert as the door opened right as Annabel reached for the handle. 

‘Hi Mum! I’m—’

‘Darling, what on earth happened?’ Her mother cut her off. She kissed her cheek perfunctorily then continued with a ­furrowed brow, ‘You look tired! I messaged you, but you didn’t reply!’ She looked out towards the sea of cars and asked, ‘Where’s Luke?’

‘I was driving, Mum, I couldn’t reply. And if I’d stopped to reply, I’d have been even later. Luke’s not coming, he’s not feeling well.’ 

Annabel took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. It wasn’t exactly a lie; he wasn’t feeling well. At that very moment, he was probably sprawled on the sofa nursing his hangover after last night’s shenanigans. She groaned inwardly at the thought. Why hadn’t he just told her where he had been?

Jeanette Penrose was a trim woman in her early seventies, but in her smart turquoise shift dress and matching jacket, with her silvery blonde hair elegantly styled into soft waves, she looked at least a decade younger. Retirement in the Algarve clearly agreed with her, and Annabel envied her year-round tan.

‘Oh, I see.’ she said. ‘Well that’s a shame, I hope he’s feeling better soon. Do send him my love.’

How did her mother do it? Annabel had been there for less than a minute and every single comment that she had uttered so far had irritated her. Her making of fuss of Luke annoyed her at the best of times, but today it felt like something of a betrayal after he’d been a complete shit to her. 

Jeanette had put Luke on a pedestal when they first got together and Annabel couldn’t bear the way she fawned over him. She seemed to view him as some sort of knight in shining armour, nobly rescuing her daughter from a future of spinsterhood and maiden aunt status. What a hero. What an arse, more like. If only her mother knew the half of it.

‘Anyway – ’ Annabel forced a smile and followed her mother through the hallway and into the kitchen – ‘I’m here now. How’s the birthday girl?’ 

‘Oh she’s fine, you know Dotty; loving all the attention!’ Jeanette gave a dramatic eye roll and Annabel swallowed down an irritated reply. ‘She’s in the conservatory, surrounded by her adoring fans! Everyone’s been here since eleven, as per the invitation,’ she added tartly. 

Just for once, why couldn’t her mother be nice to Dotty, today of all days? Annabel wondered. Maybe it was just the usual tension between daughters- and mothers-in-law, but it had always been this way and it was tedious; Jeanette playing the role of the perfect daughter-in-law, whilst making sneaky, barbed jibes behind the scenes. Dotty, for her part, always seemed to rise above it as far as Annabel could tell, which doubtless rankled Jeanette. 

‘It’s been a busy morning, getting everything ready,’ she continued. ‘A helping hand wouldn’t have gone amiss. Thankfully, William and Sarah got here before everyone else and helped finish setting up. They stayed with her sister near Exeter last night, so they didn’t have far to come. She’s so artistic; wait till you see the conservatory, she’s done it beautifully!’

Annabel refused to rise to the bait. She forced a smile and agreed how fortunate it was that they’d been around to help put up the decorations. She loved her brother and sister-in-law dearly, but the Golden Couple treatment that they always got from their mother never failed to grind her gears. 

The usually neat farmhouse kitchen had been invaded by multiple food containers and boxes from the local caterers. Two middle-aged ladies in matching company polo shirts looked up from the chaos with cheerful smiles as Jeanette and Annabel came in. Annabel tried to compensate for her mother completely ignoring them by greeting them warmly and thanking them for their efforts. Jeanette was on a mission: she made straight for the kettle, filled it, switched it on and glanced at her watch. 

‘Right, you have exactly twenty-three minutes to have a coffee and a shower, and get yourself ready.’ Jeanette looked her daughter up and down, and wrinkled her brow at her T-shirt and jeans. ‘Please tell me you’ve brought something to change into?’ 

Be nice . . . Be nice. It’s Dotty’s day, don’t let her spoil it, Annabel told herself. She swallowed her frustration and managed an affirmative nod. She was thirty-five years old and a history lecturer at a university. She had a PhD, for goodness’ sake, yet her mother still had a way of making her feel like a hopeless child. She took a deep breath and bent down to make a fuss of Monty, her granny’s faithful old black Labrador, who was observing proceedings from the safety of his dog bed by the back door. 

‘The Lord Lieutenant’s arriving at midday,’ Jeanette continued, taking a mug from the cupboard and opening the jar of Nescafé. ‘And he’ll do the presentation first. That man from the press is here, it’s going to be in the local papers, would you believe! Then we’ll have the speeches; the Lord Lieut first, then your dad’s going to say a few words.’

As if on cue, the tall figure of Noel Penrose appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was dressed smartly in a navy-blue suit. In his mid-seventies, he was still a handsome man with his dark features and year-round golfing tan, and the salt-and-pepper flecks in his black hair lent him a distinguished look.

‘Annie, my darling girl!’ he called, opening his arms to his daughter with a wide smile. Annabel grinned and rushed over to him, letting herself dissolve into his safe, pine-scented ­embrace. 

Annabel and Dotty often joked that the phrase ‘opposites ­attract’ had been coined when Noel and Jeanette first met, back in the seventies. Whereas Jeanette was a bundle of highly strung energy, determination and drive, Noel was Mr Easy-Going, with a laid-back charm and relaxed sense of humour. 

‘I’m so glad you made it,’ he said, rubbing her back as he hugged her close, ‘How was the traffic?’

‘Bloody awful! The motorway was bad, but the A30 was even worse! I’m so sorry I’m late, Dad,’ she began. ‘It’s been the morning from hell!’

‘Oh, bad luck!’ He made a sympathetic face. ‘No Luke?’ 

Annabel sighed and shook her head. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

Noel’s blue eyes filled with concern for a moment, then brightened. ‘Well lucky us, I say; we get you all to ourselves!’ He gave her an encouraging wink, then lowered himself onto a stool at the breakfast bar with a grimace.

‘You alright, Dad? Hip still giving you trouble?’ 

‘Yes, damned thing! It was probably sitting cramped up in the plane that did it, plus the drive down from Heathrow. It just gets a bit stiff, I need to keep it moving. I’m booked in for the surgery, did Mum tell you? Getting it done in a couple of weeks, so that’s a relief. Hopefully I’ll be able to get back out on the golf course again soon!’ 

‘Enough chit-chat, there’ll be plenty of time for catching up later, you two!’ Jeanette cut them off as she handed the coffee mug to her daughter. ‘Noel, you need to practise your speech, and Annabel’ – she glanced at her watch again – ‘twenty-one ­minutes and counting!’

CHAPTER 2

Cornwall

Saturday 9th March, 2019

Dotty Penrose beamed out at the sea of familiar faces from her ‘throne’, as she’d dubbed the chair of honour at the far end of the conservatory. The royal blue of her dress matched her eyes, which at that moment were sparkling with excitement. Beside her, Annabel squeezed her hand and felt a lump form in her throat. She was so proud of her granny and it was a joy to see so many friends and neighbours come and pay tribute to her on her special day. Dotty had been delighted to see everyone, but confided in her granddaughter that she didn’t know what all the fuss was about, ‘Honestly, all these people making all this effort for this old biddy!’ 

Dotty was something of a local treasure in the Cornish village of Wincastle, where she had lived for over seventy years. She knew everybody and everybody knew her. To the locals, she was a second granny and she was never short of a friend to take her for a trip out, for a coffee or a meal. Annabel often teased that her social life was busier than her own, but was relieved that she was still able to keep busy and enjoy company. So many people became so isolated in old age, but Dotty seemed determined to keep going and stay interested in the world around her. 

She had been blessed with remarkably good health, she ­admitted, never having broken a bone or needed a trip to hospital. Hearing her contemporaries discuss their medication and various ailments was always a tedious experience for her, not to mention a conversation in which she could not join. For at the ripe old age of one hundred, Dotty was, amazingly, medication free. She still managed to live independently in her beloved farmhouse, even managing the stairs to her bedroom and pooh-poohing Noel’s suggestion of setting up a downstairs bedroom. He had briefly floated the idea of sheltered housing a couple of years ago, but such was the dressing-down from his mother that he never dared mention it again. 

However, they had reached a compromise, with Noel arranging for a ‘cleaner’ to pop in every day, under the guise of doing the tedious jobs, such as vacuuming and doing the laundry and washing up. But really, she was there to keep an eye on things for Noel, who felt horribly torn between his golfing retirement in the sun and his dear old ma back home. Dotty had resented the daily intrusion at first, but had eventually warmed to Lizzie, the cheerful retired nurse who was in her late fifties. Noel felt relief the first time Dotty mentioned having had a cup of coffee with Lizzie after she’d finished her chores. 

Every day, come rain or shine, Dotty walked the half mile to the village post office to buy her newspaper and have a chat with Pam, the postmistress. She liked to keep up to date with the news and do the daily crossword, but, more importantly, the routine and the company kept her going. ‘The day I stop moving is the day this old body will pack up!’ she had told Annabel.

Such was Dotty’s popularity that today it was standing room only in the conservatory. Several guests had spilled out onto the patio beyond, where trestle tables had been set up for the buffet lunch later. Annabel looked out and smiled. She never tired of the view from the house and today it was nothing short of spectacular. There wasn’t a cloud in the azure sky, and fluffy white lambs skipped and jumped in the fields that led down to the sea, sparkling in the distance. It was a perfect Cornish spring day. 

The Lord Lieutenant of Cornwall, Colonel Edward Tremayne, arrived at 12 p.m. on the dot. He was a handsome man in his late sixties, with silver-grey hair and piercing blue eyes. Dressed in his full military regalia and with a charming greeting for everyone, he set a few elderly pulses racing. ‘I suppose this is the OAP’s equivalent of ordering a stripper for a twenty-first!’ William whispered to Annabel as the colonel stood up to address the audience, causing her to snort and earn a reproachful look from their mother. 

Congratulations were given and snippets of Dotty’s life story (provided to him by Noel, via email) were shared, then it was the moment they had all been waiting for: the birthday card from the Queen. It had arrived in the mail a couple of days earlier and Dotty had been under strict instructions not to open it, but to wait until the official presentation. 

A hush fell as Colonel Tremayne handed the white envelope to Dotty with due pomp and ceremony and said, ‘Mrs Dotty Penrose, it is my very great honour to be here with you and your loved ones today. I have been instructed by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, to wish you a very happy birthday!’ There was a round of applause and Annabel looked up to see a wall of cameras and mobile phones; everyone wanted to capture the special moment.

Annabel had never seen her grandmother lost for words before, but receiving personal correspondence from Her Majesty left her in a kind of awed silence. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as her nearest and dearest watched her gaze at the photo­graph on the front of the card. Annabel heard her whisper, ‘Well I never!’

Then she opened it and read the message aloud:

I am so pleased to know that you are celebrating your one hundredth birthday on 9th March, 2019. I send my congratulations and best wishes to you on such a special occasion. Elizabeth R.

‘Well, thank you very much, Your Majesty; it was very good of you to remember!’ she quipped, earning a burst of laughter and another round of applause as she held the card up for everyone to see.

‘Speech!’ came a voice from the back of the room, which Annabel recognised to be that of Neil Polkerris, the farmer who leased the Penrose farmland. Everyone laughed again and Dotty let herself be talked into it. 

‘I’m not one for speeches, but I would just like to say a few words,’ she began and then paused as she looked around the room. Sitting next to her, Annabel squeezed her hand encouragingly. 

‘I’d just like to say thank you so much to you all for coming today, it really does mean an awful lot to me. I’m a very fortunate old woman! Lots of you have asked me the secret to reaching this ripe old age. I’m not sure what the answer is, maybe it’s the little glass of sherry I have every evening – purely for medicinal reasons, you understand!’ More laughter. Annabel felt a surge of pride as she watched her grandmother captivate her audience. 

‘But in all seriousness,’ she continued, ‘I think it’s love.’ A sigh echoed around the room. ‘I’ve had a long life filled with a lot of love, for which I thank my lucky stars every day. I was blessed with the most wonderful husband. He loved me and took care of me from the moment we met, until the day he died. And we were blessed with the best son we could have ever wished for, our dear Noel. I could never have asked for a kinder, more loving son. Thank you, darling.’ She looked over to where Noel was standing and blew him a kiss. 

‘What about us, Nanny Dotty?’ came the small voice of ­William’s eldest, six-year-old Lucy, from the corner of the room. Everyone laughed and Dotty wiped away trickles of laughter.

‘And you too, darling, I was saving the most important till last! I am so fortunate to have my wonderful grandchildren and great-grandchildren here; my dearest Annabel, William and his Sarah, and their cheeky little monkeys, Lucy and Aiden. I love you all, thank you for being my family.’ Dotty smiled out at her guests and gave a slight bow to show that she had finished, prompting rapturous applause and cheers from around the room.

Noel stepped forward next and motioned for quiet. ‘How to follow that?’ he joked. He started by echoing Dotty’s thanks to everyone for coming, to the Lord Lieutenant for making it such a special occasion and to the caterers, who were now busy setting up the buffet on the patio. 

‘And now comes the hard part, how on earth can I do justice to a hundred years of my wonderful mum in just a few minutes?’ An encouraging chuckle murmured around the room.

‘All I can say is thank you, Ma. You have been our family’s rock and mainstay through the years, through all the ups and downs. And not just for us, but here in the village you have been a stalwart of the community. Never one to let the grass grow under your feet, you’ve always got involved, whether it was the bowling club, the WI, the church rotas, the keep-fit club or the Cancer Research committee. I know from all the cards you’ve received today – as well as all the guests here – that you are very much loved and very much appreciated.’

Dotty’s eyes glistened with pride as a murmur of agreement echoed around the room. Several voices called out, ‘Hear, hear!’ 

‘Ma, you’ve made our family what it is. You talked about love, but it was you who showed us how to love. You and Pa – God rest his soul – have been the best parents I could have ever wished for. I am truly blessed to call you my mum. A mere “thank you” seems so inadequate, but I mean it with all my heart.’ 

Dotty’s eyes welled up again and she reached up to take his hand in hers. Noel raised it to his lips and kissed it tenderly. 

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Noel continued, dabbing at his own unshed tears, ‘Please raise your glasses. To my wonderful Ma . . . To Dotty!’

‘To Dotty!’ cheered the guests as they toasted the birthday girl. 

At that moment, Jeanette made her way through the crowd with the birthday cake. Annabel moved a side table in front of Dotty, as per her mother’s instructions, and took the cigarette lighter from the pocket in her dress. The cake was covered in perfect, snow-white icing, with ‘Happy Birthday Dotty!’ piped in cheerful yellow lettering. Delicate yellow flowers decorated the top and a matching ribbon was tied around the outside. Springtime yellow was the perfect choice, Annabel mused, pleased with her mum’s decision. It was bright and cheerful, just like Dotty.

Annabel lit the candle that stood in the middle of the cake and, as it flickered into life, Noel led the guests in singing ‘­Happy Birthday’. The beaming birthday girl leaned forward in her chair, ready to blow out the candle. 

‘Make a wish!’ called out one of the guests. 

Instead of the full complement to match her age, there was just a single ‘100’ candle standing in the centre. Dotty closed her eyes and smiled as she made her wish, then took a deep breath and blew. The candle was soon extinguished and the guests began to clap. But then it flickered and came alive again, much to Dotty’s bemusement.

Encouraging shouts of ‘Blow harder, Dotty!’ and ‘Give it some welly, girl!’ came from around the room. Dotty looked puzzled, but took another deep breath and had another go.

After the fourth attempt, the penny dropped and Dotty chuckled, realising that she’d been had. ‘Oh, you rascals!’ she said, slightly out of puff. ‘Is this one of those fancy candles that won’t go out?’ she asked, causing much amusement around the room. ‘Fine way to finish an old biddy off on her birthday!’ 

“Sorry, Dotty!” Annabel clutched her hand and gave a wry smile. “Blame William, it was his bright idea!” 

Dotty looked across to see William grinning at her. He gave her a wink and she wagged a finger at him, but couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

The last of the visitors had made their farewells by late afternoon and the family moved through to the comfy chairs in the sitting room. Jeanette directed the catering staff in their tidying up and Sarah set off to make tea for everyone, while Annabel helped her grandmother into her favourite chair beside the fireplace. Monty joined her, sitting loyally at her feet with his head on her knee.

‘Well, that was a big success!’ Annabel sighed contentedly, slipping off her shoes and curling up on the sofa. ‘Did you have a nice time, Dotty?’

‘Oh, I’m exhausted!’ the old lady puffed. ‘But it was marvellous! I had a wonderful time. It was so kind of everyone to come. And all these lovely cards!’ She pointed to the sideboard, which was a sea of birthday jollity. ‘I was very touched.’

‘And the old colonel was a bit of alright too, wasn’t he Dotty?’ William quipped from the hearthrug, where he was getting out the Lego to keep his children entertained. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at his granny, making her giggle like a schoolgirl.

‘You never change, William Penrose, you cheeky boy! But it’s been wonderful to have you all here together.’ Dotty beamed at them all. ‘I know it’s a long way for you all to come. Especially for you, Noel, having to fly all that way! I do appreciate you making the effort.’

‘It’s no effort, Ma, it’s only Portugal; just a few hours on the plane. It’s an easy journey, very doable. You know we’d love you to come out and stay with us for a while. Maybe later in the summer, after I’ve had my hip done? I think you’d enjoy it; it’d be a nice change.’

Dotty appeared to mull it over for a moment, then shook her head. ‘It’s very kind of you, dear, but it would be awfully hot. You know I can’t stand the heat. In one hundred years, I’ve never had a foreign holiday yet, and I’m afraid I don’t intend to start now!’

‘But that can’t be right,’ Noel’s brow creased in confusion. ‘We went on that holiday when I was very small. Don’t you remember?’ Noel asked. ‘It was one of my very first memories as a child, I must have been about two or three. Surely you remember, Ma? I’ve no idea where it was, but it was incredibly hot and humid! I’ve a memory of someone doing that old nursery rhyme ‘Round and Round the Garden’ on my hand, and sitting on a wooden box with no clothes on, being fed soup from a bowl!’ 

Everyone chuckled at the unlikely image he’d painted, but Annabel noticed the flicker of a shadow pass across her grandmother’s face. It was for the briefest of moments, then her smile was back, but Annabel had seen it. Had Dotty really forgotten? Her mental agility had been so sharp for so long, was she ­worrying now that her memory was starting to fade?

‘Why would you eat hot soup in a hot country?’ little Lucy, piped up. ‘That would just make you hotter. Ice cream would have been better.’ Everyone laughed at the comment.

‘And you shouldn’t go out in the sun with no clothes on, Grandad,’ chided four-year-old Aiden, not wanting to be outdone by his big sister. ‘You’ll get all sunburnt with no clothes on, that’s what Mummy says.’ 

‘What do I say?’ asked Sarah on cue, as she came back into the room with the tea tray. She put a plate of biscuits on the coffee table and handed out mugs of tea.

‘That nude sunbathing is off limits, apparently!’ quipped Annabel.

Later that evening, while William and Sarah were putting the children to bed and her parents were tidying up, Annabel sat and enjoyed a moment of calm with her grandmother. 

Dotty smiled, looking at the card from Buckingham Palace. She pointed to the photo of the Queen. ‘It’s a lovely snap of her, isn’t it? I do like her in lavender, don’t you? I think it’s her best colour.’ 

‘I’ll be sure to let Her Majesty know you approve of her colour choice.’ Annabel teased good-naturedly. ‘So tell me, dearest Ancient Relic, how are you feeling?’

‘Old!’ Dotty quipped without missing a beat. They both laughed. ‘Oh, I can’t really complain. The old bones are a nuisance, but the marbles are still present and correct,’ she tapped the side of her head, ‘And that’s the important bit! But never mind me, how are you, sweetheart? You look tired, is everything alright?’

The tenderness in her grandmother’s eyes made Annabel well up. She knew her so well, she always had done. She recognised every shade and nuance on her granddaughter’s face, far better than Jeanette had ever done. It was Dotty to whom ­Annabel had turned for comfort and advice when she was growing up, whom she would call if she had a problem at school or needed cooking advice while away at university. And that would never change. Despite her granny’s advancing years, she always seemed to understand and to strike the right balance between providing a listening ear and offering useful advice. 

‘It’s Luke,’ she sighed.

‘Ah,’ Dotty nodded her understanding. ‘Things not going well?’ 

‘I just don’t know where we’re going.’ She shrugged. ‘We’ll have been together for five years in August, but instead of growing closer together, it feels like we’re drifting further apart. He’s been acting so differently lately; we used to socialise together, but these days he’s only interested in nights out with the football lads. And when we do have time together, he just seems to want to veg in front of the TV.’

‘Have you spoken to him about it, told him how you’re feeling?’

‘I’ve tried. But he gets so defensive and somehow always manages to turn it around and put the blame on me, like I’m the one with the problem.’

‘Gaslighting.’ Dotty nodded sagely. 

Annabel couldn’t help but burst out laughing at hearing her centenarian grandmother utter such a twenty-first century colloquialism. ‘Where on earth did you pick that up?’ she asked.

‘My friend Pam in the post office.’ She chuckled. ‘Her ­Wendy’s boyfriend does it to her all the time, apparently. Not a pleasant fellow, by all accounts. But it. . .