Elsie watches out the backdoor as the last of the hallboys trots up the drive towards the village. She’s been sending her “chicks” home for Mothering Sunday for twenty years, she should be used to it by now. That feeling of emptiness, empty house, empty table, empty heart. Nothing to be done about it at this stage of life. Taking a deep breath & pulling her shawl tighter against the cold March wind blowing through the courtyard, she turns & closes the door firmly behind her. What happens next?