I put everything in the blue boxes and posted copies to two places.

The first was the Groceries Code Adjudicator. It's the official watchdog that checks how the big supermarkets treat their suppliers. It can investigate them, and it can fine them. The second was a committee of MPs in Parliament. They'd just started looking into how supermarkets treated small food producers, after my story in the news.

Two weeks later, a letter arrived with a portcullis on the envelope.

The committee invited me to come to Westminster and give evidence. In public. In front of cameras.

They'd also invited Greenfields.

Greenfields was sending Martin Kerr.

I'd never been to London in my life, except once on a school trip. Jenna came with me on the train. She held my hand all the way from Bodmin to Paddington.

In my bag were the two blue boxes and Grandma Polly's recipe card.

“Are you scared, Mum?” Jenna asked, somewhere around Reading.

“Terrified,” I said.

“Grandma Polly wouldn't be.”

I laughed.

“No,” I said. “Grandma Polly would slap them on the hand for grating the swede.”