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tongue as the passenger door slammed shut. Signalling, she set off towards her parents’ place. A couple of minutes later she turned into Clement Lane and sighed happily. Here, the porches on houses were strung with cheerful lights. Some residents had decorated trees in their front gardens. It added to the Fairy Land atmosphere. Children were playing in the road on their bikes, their noses red from the cold. They all wore brightly coloured hats and scarves, probably knitted by their grandmas. In Janey’s part of London you rarely saw children playing outside. Parents were too worried about abduction. Indeed the only kids likely to be out were much older ones. They wore a hoodie uniform and hung around on street corners with watchful eyes. Janey dropped a gear and trundled slowly along to avoid the cycling children, also because the lane was inclined to potholes. Moments later the car came to rest on the driveway of Orchard House.
    Pulling the key from the ignition, for a moment she sat quietly. As Janey stared at the family home she grew up in, the only sound was the tick of the car’s cooling engine. Suddenly Janey had a lump in her throat. The detached Victorian house was full of childhood memories. She loved its sash windows, huge fireplaces, and a cellar that, long ago, had been hers and Joe’s secret hide-out. These days it housed her mother’s supermarket-sized freezer and her father’s homemade wine.
    Getting out of the car, Janey was just reaching for her suitcase when the front door to Orchard House flew open.
    ‘Yoo hoo, darling!’ Violet called and waved. She was wearing an apron over an immaculate twinset. Only her mother cooked in full make-up and elegant clothes. ‘Perfect timing. Dinner is almost ready. Come on in and have a huge sherry. Joe’s already here.’
    Dinner was a convivial affair. In the privacy of his childhood home where walls kept out the wiggling ears of village gossips, Joe regaled them with tales of his flamboyant lifestyle and demanding customers.
    ‘Mrs Cavendish-Tate is beyond the pale.’ Joe rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘She swans in, picks out various designs and textiles, and then puts in a stonking order which she wants in forty-eight hours. She’s impossible. Sanjay and I despair.’
    ‘As long as she’s handing over stonking wads of cash,’ Derek pointed out. ‘I’d be inclined to keep that particular customer happy.’
    ‘Oh we do,’ Joe assured, ‘but she is such hard work.’
    ‘And how is Sanjay?’ asked Violet, popping a Brussel sprout in her mouth.
    ‘Wonderful as ever,’ said Joe dreamily, ‘although he still hasn’t climbed out the closet and told his family about me.’
    ‘Oh dear,’ Janey sighed. ‘Do you think he ever will?’
    ‘Well it certainly needs to happen at some point. He’s pushing for marriage. Wants me to make an honest man out of him.’
    ‘And will you?’ asked Janey.
    ‘Eventually, I’m sure.’
    ‘Hmm. Well, best to keep the lid on that sort of news whilst in Little Cobbleton,’ Violet murmured.
    ‘Oh I don’t know, I think it would be nice to ask Mrs Jones and her cronies to the wedding. Do you think she’d agree to be Matron of Honour?’ Joe smiled mischievously.
    Violet shook her head in mock despair. She was used to her son’s teasing and wicked humour. ‘Unfortunately this place is light years behind London, darling. But talking of romance and wedding bells, what about you, Janey? You were so excited the last time we spoke. When are we going to meet Jake?’
    ‘Soon!’ Janey plastered a big smile on her face. ‘He’s currently winding up some musical commitments in Manchester, and then we’ll be sorting out our future.’
    ‘Are you sure he’s The One, sweetheart?’ asked Derek. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. ‘It’s been a whirlwind romance. You don’t want to rush into anything.’
    ‘You’re absolutely right,’ Janey nodded vigorously. Spotting an excuse, she swam towards it. ‘In