That night I dreamt in vivid, unnatural colour. I was folding clean clothes in the kitchen. Little pairs of trousers. A tiny pink jumper. Socks the size of mushrooms. I was enjoying smoothing them into shape and the clean starchy smell. Yet I could not see any of my own clothes. The stack began to tower above me, and I had enormous difficulty in lifting the basket. I felt it slip between my fingers.

When I woke, I was convinced that I could feel the soft, warm circle of a cat sleeping beside me.

Later in the month, Vee sent over a couple of books for review, which, my finances not being expansive, I welcomed.

One was the autobiography of an actor who received instructions from God before he went on stage. (‘Lucky thing,’ said Vee. ‘At least he knows what’s what.’) The second was a handbook on the ‘amicable’ divorce. ‘Copy date 31 Sept.,’ she had written. ‘Not a moment later.’ I was putting the finishing touches to both when I heard the front door flung open and the thump of a bag hitting the floor.

‘Mum?’ Poppy ricocheted up the stairs to the landing. ‘Mum, I’m home.’

I sprang to my feet so quickly that I knocked over the chair. With a mixture of speechless love, fright and irritation, I flung my arms around her. Bird-like bones, smooth skin, hair that smelt spicy and of the East… that was my daughter. I pulled her as close as I could. ‘Thanks for warning me.’

Poppy giggled. ‘Here I am, a married woman, complete with ring.’ She stuck out the relevant finger and there was no ring, only a tattoo. ‘Fun and longer-lasting than metal, which I think is important, don’t you?’

The tattoo was a heartbreakingly wispy line around her finger, barely there. I stroked her hair. ‘Where’s the bridegroom?’

‘He’s gone north to visit the parents. We like to do things separately.’

After a pause, I said, ‘Really? How sensible.’

‘Yes, well…’ Poppy looked down at the carpet, and out of the window. ‘I wanted to have you to myself, not share you. You do see, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

She brightened and twirled around so that her muslin skirt floated in a frou of colour. ‘I’m so excited. Do you think we can have a party to tell everyone?’

There was something in the way she said it that told me Poppy was not quite as excited as she made out. ‘Of course. Let’s go and open some wine. I want to hear everything.’

But Poppy insisted that I gave her all the home news first. Obediently, I fed her the latest on Sam and Alice, on Ianthe and Mr Sears. Of Nathan I said nothing and finished up with, ‘Jilly has rung a couple of times. She’s home from New Zealand and job-hunting. Had a fantastic time and demanded to see you the instant you got back. She didn’t know your news so I didn’t say anything.’

In the past, Jilly was always the first person to know anything about Poppy, and normally long before Nathan and I did. ‘Sure. I might phone. Perhaps tomorrow.’ She took off her glasses and rubbed at the lenses. ‘And you, Mum?’

‘Fine.’

‘Oh, yes. My father leaves my mother after twenty-five years and you say you’re fine.’

‘But I am. Not fine-fine, but fine.’

‘Oh.’ Poppy seemed upset that I was so calm. Perhaps I should have rocked and wept to reassure a new bride – but I had done all that. ‘Darling, I’m picking up the pieces. Now, please tell me about you and Richard, the wedding…’

Poppy launched into traveller’s tales, which culminated in a story of a tropical ceremony where the food had been served on banana leaves, the guests danced on the sand and dived, naked, into the sea. She did not, however, talk much about Richard.

‘Dad wouldn’t have budgeted for naked guests,’ I said, thinking of Nathan’s plans in the file. Poppy’s red mouth tightened, a warning sign, and I changed the subject. ‘You always said you didn’t want to get “tied up and desperate” Like me. Darling, are you quite, quite sure that Richard is the man with whom you want to share the rest of your life?’

‘Given the situation, isn’t the “rest of your life” bit rather ambitious? After… after you and Dad, I don’t want to think in those terms.’

I felt myself flushing. ‘We nearly made it.’ I grabbed one of her hands. ‘Nearly.’

Poppy pulled herself free. ‘You’re angry with me. Richard said there’d be a row.’

I guessed that Richard had not said anything of the sort. It was Poppy who wanted the row. ‘I don’t mind how you got married,’ I lied expertly, ‘as long as you’re happy. I can wear the hat to someone’s else wedding.’

She was not sure if I was teasing or bitter, laughing or crying – I was not sure myself.

Poppy stood behind me and slid her arms round me. ‘It was so easy, Mum. Thailand is magic and moonlight. It seemed right to go with one’s feelings.’ She was silent. ‘I got caught up.’

‘As long as you’re both happy.’

Poppy’s arms tightened around me. ‘Where’s Parsley?’

I told her and she burst into shuddering sobs, which I suspected were only partly for Parsley. Eventually she calmed down and settled back on the sofa, her sweet young face swept of its defences. ‘You’ll like Richard, really,’ she said. ‘You don’t know him yet.’ This was true. ‘He’s full of surprises, and Dad got off to a bad start asking him all those questions about jobs. It brought out the worst in him.’

‘I see. Our fault, then?’

‘Got it in one.’ Poppy grinned, and I felt better.

Chapter Twenty-one

The minute he heard the news, Nathan drove over to Lakey Street. I opened the door and almost did not recognize the figure in the crumpled shirt and shorts. In Greece he had obviously got very sunburnt and the skin on his face and arms was still peeling.

He surged into the hall and Poppy came tearing down the stairs and flung herself into her father’s arms. He hugged her convulsively. ‘What have you done, my girl?’

She beat his chest with her fist. ‘What have you done?’

This was a private exchange, so I left them to it and went out into the garden.

The fountain splashed contentedly. The delphiniums had shaken out a late and final giddy display of blue and white parasols and the Ligularia had put forth garish orange flowers. ‘Rose?’ Nathan had appeared on the patio. There were tears on his cheeks and he wiped them away with the back of his hand, then ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I can’t believe she’s married that man. Has he been in touch with you? He hasn’t contacted me.’ His expression was as bleak as I had ever seen it. ‘Did we go wrong? Or is this Poppy?’

I wanted to pull him close and tell him that, yes, he had been a good father, the best, which was what he was driving at. His own culpability in the situation. ‘It’s not a question of where we’ve gone wrong. Getting married without us does not make Poppy bad. Or us bad parents. We had got used to thinking of our children as children, not as separate people. Poppy’s reminded us, that’s all.’

Nathan rubbed the burnt triangle at his throat. ‘What’s she been living on all these months while she’s been floating round the world? We didn’t give her much.’

The question had crossed my mind. ‘Presumably she and Richard pooled their resources.’

‘Richard’s resources! He wouldn’t recognize a resource if it sat in his lap. That man has welfare dependency written all over him.’ We had only met Richard three times but Nathan prided himself on his instant character assessment. (To be fair, he was often correct.)

I stared at this crude reincarnation of the Victorian father. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I suppose not.’ A bundle of bamboo stakes lay on the path. Nathan seized the nearest and drove it savagely into the flowerbed. ‘I’m damned if I’ll give her a party. She can bloody well go to a pub.’

Tactfully, I waited until Nathan had hauled out his handkerchief and wiped his face and hands before I said, ‘We have to accept this marriage, Nathan.’

He looked even bleaker as he shifted the options around in his mind. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine.’

He gave the still quivering cane a kick. ‘While I’m here, Rosie, I have to talk to you about the house.’

I stiffened and, because I was frightened at what was coming next, I sounded sharper than I intended. ‘Don’t call me Rosie.’

‘But…’ He gave an offended shrug. ‘If that’s what you prefer.’

It was ridiculous that we were sparring over a nickname but I asked, as calmly as I could, ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

Nathan straightened up and assumed his office voice – always a bad sign. ‘Please think about what I’m going to say. What if I bought you out of your half of the house?’ Then he added, in the same smooth tone, ‘After it had been valued professionally’

‘What?’

Nathan retreated to the garden bench, sat down and patted the space beside him. I ignored the invitation, which meant that he had to look up at me as he put his case.

‘It would save money, which you will need. We could do it quickly and without too many middlemen.’ He faltered at my expression. ‘We have to be practical.’

I said childishly, ‘I don’t have to be. Not any longer.’

‘Yes, you do, Rosie… Rose. Please don’t let your anger get in the way of what makes sense.’

‘I’m not letting Minty set foot in my house.’

‘My house, too.’

‘But you left it,’ I blazed at him.

There was a difficult, dangerous silence. This was like being rejected all over again but worse: it made me feel that Nathan had shrunk and his grand gesture of striking out for freedom had not been that at all. I could understand his wild, sweeping decision, his uncharacteristic unpredictability, which at least had been courageous and bold, but not this feeble putt, designed to restore the status quo, except with a different woman.