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with joy and relief. The second time round it was another girl, just like her beautiful mother, but Daphne’s reaction had been exactly the same. Maudie had teased her about it but Daphne was unrepentant.
    ‘You have no idea how happy I am,’ she’d said. ‘Darling Emily …’ and she’d burst into tears.
    The third occasion had been quite different—but by then Tim was dead, killed in a car accident—and Emily was left with three children to support. They’d been living in Canada for ten years, by then, and Daphne had rushed out to be with her. This baby was unplanned, the other two already in their teens, and there was no joy in Daphne’s voice when she’d reported his premature birth. The long distance call had been marred by crackles and Maudie had suspected that Daphne was crying.
    ‘Daphne. Oh, Daphne, I’m so sorry.’ She was almost shouting into the receiver. ‘Oh, if only you weren’t so far away.’
    Hector had been standing beside her, his face creased with anxiety, and she’d shaken her head at him, indicating that she couldn’t hear properly. He’d taken the receiver from her.
    ‘Daphne,’ he’d said. ‘It’s Hector. Don’t cry, my dear. Try to be calm and tell us exactly the situation so that we can help you …’ and Maudie had gone to pour herself a drink, comforted by his calm strength, knowing that Daphne would feel it, too, however serious the news.
    Emily and small Tim had survived, however, although Maudie had never seen him. There was no money for trips to England, although Daphne and Philip flew out to see them all every year.
    ‘Why doesn’t she come home?’ Maudie had asked—but Daphne had shaken her head.
    The older children were settled in school and Emily was afraid that another upheaval, so soon after Tim’s death, would be too much for them. Perhaps, later on … Then Philip had died and Daphne had broken the news that she intended to go out to Canada, to make her home with Emily.
    Now, as moorland gave way to farmland and small villages and theclouds began to clear away, Maudie recalled the sense of desolation with which she’d listened to Daphne’s plans.
    ‘I know it’s selfish of me,’ she’d said later to Hector, ‘but I can’t bear it. I shall miss her so much. It was bad enough when Emily went but I can’t imagine how I shall manage without Daphne. We must go out and visit them.’
    Not long after, however, Hector had become ill and the visit to Canada never happened. Daphne had flown home for the funeral and they had wept together, mourning not only for Hector’s passing but for their own pasts, their youth, friendships, hopes. Memories flooded back and they’d talked long into the night, remembering.
    ‘Dear Hector,’ Daphne had said at last, swollen-eyed from tears and weariness. ‘He was such fun. I’m so glad he had you, Maudie. You made him laugh and Hector loved to laugh.’
    ‘We had some difficult moments over the girls,’ sighed Maudie. ‘I wish now that I could have been more tolerant but it hurt when he used to take Selina’s side.’
    ‘At least you’ve got Posy,’ smiled Daphne, recalling Posy’s almost aggressive protectiveness towards Maudie at the funeral. ‘What a sweetie she is.’
    ‘She’s so like Hector. Black hair, brown eyes, not like her brothers at all, but they look just like Patrick. I think Selina is irritated that none of her children looks like her. Odd things, genes.’
    Afterwards, when Daphne had returned to Canada, Maudie had felt truly alone—yet, in another way, strangely relieved. During the eighteen months of Hector’s illness he had become withdrawn, difficult, morose. She had struggled to remain cheerful and positive but it had been a strain. In the last few months he had become confused, his memories muddled, and at the end he had not known who she was. It seemed that he was reliving the years when he and Hilda were young and the girls were children. He became querulous, irritable, and