Page 127 of My Kind of Happy

‘Gina is in the garden with the children,’ she replied, refusing to be drawn. ‘Come on in.’

She showed me into the hall and I whistled in admiration. Sunlight through the coloured fanlight above the door caught the crystal chandelier above our heads, sending shafts of light over the walls. With the grandfather clock ticking solemnly in the corner and the wooden panelling around the lower half of the room it felt like I’d stepped out of the modern world and straight onto the set of Downton Abbey.

‘It’s so elegant,’ I murmured.

She giggled. ‘No need to whisper.’

‘I can’t help it,’ I whispered.

The garden was every bit as wonderful as the house. Gina and Paige, whom I recognised from our open day were sitting under a huge parasol with six or seven little ones. They were tucking in to a pile of toast and singing ‘The Wheels on the Bus’.

I waited until they’d reached the end of the song before approaching them. ‘Fantastic singing, everybody!’

‘This, believe it or not, is our quiet hour: after the school run and before music group in the church hall,’ said Gina, with a twinkle in her eye.

‘Want toast?’ asked a little girl with what looked like Marmite around her mouth, as she offered me her half-eaten triangle.

‘It looks delicious but no, thank you,’ I replied with considerable restraint. I hadn’t had time to eat this morning and my stomach was rumbling.

‘Coffee?’ Gina asked.

I agreed to that and once she’d wiped a couple of chins, she led me back indoors.

The kitchen was a riot of colour and styles: an ancient wooden dresser, a well-loved Aga and warm quarry tiled floor, a retro-style fridge covered in children’s artwork and pretty floral bunting fluttering in the breeze from the open French doors.

‘I’ve got kitchen envy,’ I said with a sigh.

She laughed. ‘I used to say the same; it’s still my favourite room. The heart of the home, I always think.’

‘I’m not really sure why I’m here,’ I admitted, once she’d put the kettle on, ‘except that I mentioned to Delphine last week that I’ve got a wedding to organise and she thought I should talk to you. I need a venue, catering, photographer – the lot, and all within a month.’

‘Ah, good old Delphine, letting the cat out of the bag.’ Gina laughed. She handed me a cup of coffee and we sat at the kitchen table.

I was intrigued.

‘We have just been approved to hold marriage ceremonies here,’ Gina confided. ‘We had our final inspection last week and we passed.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘The unexpected visitors.’

‘Exactly.’ She beamed. ‘The flowers must have swung it for us. Biscuit?’

She pushed a tin of shortbread in my direction and I delved in happily. It was melt-in-the-mouth delicious: buttery, crumbly, with a hint of lavender.

‘Una makes them, not me,’ she said when I complimented her. ‘She and Bing, our other residents, are out in the garden somewhere.’

‘I’ve met Una, I knew she lived here, but what do you mean by residents?’ I asked, confused.

Gina smiled. ‘Walk this way and I’ll explain what we do here.’

She led me through the house: a large sunny room kitted out with toys and books and brightly coloured bean bags, a formal dining room and a large room with a piano in the corner and a beautiful stone fireplace. Gina explained that while she ran her childminding business from here, she also had several octogenarian tenants and the multi-generational house had become home for all of them.

‘Bing and Una have the top floor, and Delphine, Dexter and I live on the first floor. And at the moment Welcome Cottage, which you passed at the top of the drive, is Dexter’s writing studio, he’s working on a film script,’ she added proudly. ‘But it’s bigger than he needs really and we’ve been wondering how we could use the space.’

We returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table.

‘Una mentioned something about a honeymoon suite?’

Gina rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Keeping a secret in this place is impossible. But yes, she’s right. We’re planning on doing a few very special weddings a year.’