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She props the ineffectual umbrella against the wall in the porch and runs a hand over her dark, wet hair, her long fingers brushing it to the side. As we step into the big kitchen she is drawn to the heat of the Aga, holding her hands out to it. It’s like accepting a warm hug.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I wouldn’t usually turn up like this out of the blue. I’ve been trying to ring you.’ She lowers her hands, letting them rest on the Aga.

‘Ah,’ I say, looking around for my phone and then heading for the sofa to check the cushions. Tegan is territorially sitting right in the middle of it.

‘Pretty sure I had it somewhere here . . .’ I say, rummaging around, sliding my hand down the sides of each cushion. Eventually I pull out the phone, like a lucky dip from a sawdust barrel. ‘Oh, yes. Thirteen – that’s a lot of missed calls. Sorry.’ I look up. ‘So, what exactly is this about?’

We’re sat at the slightly wobbly kitchen table, her coat hanging on the rail in front of the Aga to dry off. Both of us have our hands clasped round mugs of tea. I’ve moved my knitting from the table to the dresser. I’m listening, trying to take in a lot of information at once.

‘At the moment, Willow’s in foster care,’ says the young woman. She has introduced herself as Lara, a social worker, now working as a guardian in the interest of children, and showed me her ID. ‘But he may be a flight risk. We’re not sure. Just some of the things he’s been saying about needing to leave, and that he can “look after himself”. Unfortunately, he can’t stay where he is.’

‘A flight risk?’ I repeat. It sounds alarming.

‘He lived with his mother’s ex-partner for a time, at his mother’s house. Keeps talking about going back there. I think he’s fixed on it as a place where he was happy. We’re trying to find the partner, but we’re not even sure he’s still in the country.’

‘And you said this young boy – Willow – is Paddy’s second cousin?’

‘Yes. His mother is your husband’s cousin.’

‘Right. I’m sorry,’ I say, trying to process it all. ‘But . . . what has any of this got to do with me?’

‘Well, Willow wasn’t safe with his mother; she’s an alcoholic and a drug user, and she was abusive. She’s receiving treatment in a secure home now. And because the current fostering arrangement for Willow is temporary, we need to find a safe place for him to stay, preferably with family.’ Lara takes a beat and looks at me, her expression direct and sincere. ‘You are Willow’s only traceable family member.’

‘And you want to know if there are any other family members who could look after him?’ I shake my head, regretful. ‘Sadly, there isn’t anyone else. It was just my husband. And as I say, he died three years ago. His parents and his uncle and aunt have all passed away. Longevity clearly doesn’t run in the family,’ I add, trying to make light of it and then wishing I hadn’t.

‘No, that’s very sad. So, you see, you’re the only one we could trace.’

We both fall silent. I’m not sure what else I can say to help this young woman.

Then she says, ‘There was another adult in Willow’s life for a while, a family friend – Bryn Davies and known by the nickname Horse.’ She takes a moment to let me understand that this is the name he’s known by. ‘He was a long-term lodger in the house where Willow lived with his mother and her partner. And he was a good friend of their landlady, Ayesha.’

She looks at me as if I might know them. I shake my head again.

‘Horse seems to have been a stabilizing, positive influence on all of them,’ Lara goes on. ‘More like a family member in some ways. But he’s not in a position to help out with Willow at the moment.’

She sits back and takes a sip of her tea. I do the same, in silence again, just the snores from Tegan on the sofa. Lara looks around the kitchen.

‘This is a lovely home,’ she says.

‘Thank you.’ I follow her gaze. ‘It’s a little shabby around the edges; it’s got a few creaks and groans. But it’s been a happy home.’

‘I can tell.’ She smiles that kind smile again. Even though we’ve only just met, I can’t help but like her.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. I wish I could tell you there’s someone else in the family, but there isn’t, I’m afraid.’

‘No. I understand that. But, Gwen – sorry, do you mind if I call you that?’

I laugh lightly. ‘No, of course not. It’s my name.’

‘What I’m here to ask is, would you consider being Willow’s kinship carer?’

I frown.

‘Sorry – what?’ As her words sink in, I start to feel panic rising. ‘Do you mean his sponsor or something? I’m afraid I really don’t have any money, not until this place is sold. I mean, I have my widow’s pension, and I sell my work at craft fairs when I can. Mostly knitted gloves.’ I hold up my hands; I’m still wearing the mismatched fingerless gloves. ‘I’ve just put a deposit down on a flat. It’s all we – all I have. Paddy and I were farmers. Once I sell the farm, hopefully it’ll be different. There should be enough to live on.’

‘No, no.’ Lara shakes her head, smiling. ‘I’m sorry; I know it’s a lot to take in. A lot of information, and it must come as a shock. But what I’m here to ask is –’ she takes a deep breath, as if about to ask the impossible – ‘would you be Willow’s carer? Could he come here and live with you? Or stay with you, until his future is a little more certain.’

The world stands still for a moment. Frozen. Only the ticking of the wall clock tells me that life is still moving on. It moves faster with each year, I’ve come to realize.