Various factors now fell into place. The medical insurance for one. ‘That’s Dad’s business. Not for discussion, Poppy.’

Poppy ignored me. ‘They’ve been at it for months. Dad hates what it involves – imagine, at his age – and Minty is pretty sour at the non-strike rate. Bet they’re sniggering at the paper.’

‘Shush,’ I said sharply, because I could not bear to hear any more. I raised my glass. ‘Happy birthday’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ She rubbed her hand over her face. ‘With one thing and another, I feel a hundred and ten.’

Later that night, I undressed in my solitary bedroom. No one else was running a bath or listening to the radio. There was no Parsley, of course, on the bed. Even the water pipes were silent.

Naked, I stood in front of the mirror. A woman’s reflection met me. But which woman? I pinched and patted a fold of flesh on my stomach and flexed my leg in the way Minty did.

Was it possible to find recompense, meaning, connection with others amidst the mess and muddle? I had tried to persuade Poppy that it was, but had I been truthful?

In the past, in a crisis, men and women bound up their feet in leather and linen, and set out on a pilgrimage to the tomb of a saint. There they prayed, for health, children or to grab their neighbour’s land. They observed the milk of the Virgin, a fragment of the True Cross shimmering with righteousness, a saint’s bones, and gave thanks for being vouchsafed such a miracle. Those who survived came home, immeasurably comforted and enriched.

At this point, I began to shiver with cold and felt more than a little ridiculous. I slipped on my nightdress and went to bed.

Before I fell asleep I told myself, Of course you understand who you are and where you are. Of course you do.

Hang on. There isn’t a mistake. You are the woman in the mirror, whose name is Rose, who looks fine. Just fine.

Chapter Twenty-five

Lakey Street had been valued, and I received a letter from the solicitor outlining the divorce details. ‘Mr Lloyd,’ the letter finished, ‘would like you to know that he has done the best for you that he possibly can.’

I studied those wretched details. It was true: Nathan had been more than generous. ‘Guilt,’ said Vee, ‘and value added’, but I could not bring myself to see it like that. I preferred to think that, contained in those careful provisions, was proof that a marriage had once thrived.

Yet again, Sam hightailed up to London and we tramped through the flat in Clapham for a second time. He urged me to put in an offer. ‘It’s got a garden,’ he said, as the clincher. ‘You can’t live without one.’

I put in an offer, which was accepted.

It was Sam who also pointed out that Easter was coming and, given that our family was not entirely shot to bits, should we have a gathering at Lakey Street?

‘That’s a tough call.’ I did not like the idea. ‘You realize what you’re asking?’

Sam was strangely insistent. He placed his hands on my shoulders and said, in his gentle, serious way, ‘A guaranteed place in heaven, Mum. No questions asked and no previous taken into account. You’ll go through without touching the sides.’

‘You’re in the wrong profession.’ I touched his cheek. ‘You should have been a diplomat cobbling together continents. If you think this is a good idea, OK, but the condition is, no Minty.’

Sam-the-diplomat set about the negotiations and it was settled that we would gather at Lakey Street for dinner on Maundy Thursday. He even arranged to collect Ianthe before whisking off on an errand that he would not specify. ‘I’ll explain later,’ he promised.

Ianthe had been in two minds as to whether to be present. ‘I find it hard to talk to Nathan,’ she confessed, grief etched on her face. I hated seeing it, and Nathan would have too.

Having been persuaded, and the spring weather being sharp and cold, she arrived in her tweed coat, smelling of mothballs, and bearing industrial quantities of chocolate and nuts.

I hung up the coat in the spare bedroom and unzipped her case. Ianthe sat down at the dressing-table. The pistachio-green frock had come out for the occasion and she had cast a bright blue and yellow scarf over her shoulders. The effect was of a crazed but delightful humming-bird. Busy with the unpacking, it was a minute or two before I registered that she had assumed her waiting pose. Instantly I was suspicious. ‘Is everything all right, Mum?’

She looked down at her folded hands. ‘I’ve been meaning to have a word.’

I extracted her sponge-bag from the suitcase. ‘Go on.’

‘The doctors are very good,’ she said, and raised her eyes, ‘and I have every faith. But I’m old, Rose. You know that.’ She picked up her hairbrush and swiped impatiently at an escapee wisp then reapplied the pink-orange lipstick – of which I had never imagined I would grow so fond. ‘I’m only telling you, Rose, because I’m going back into hospital for an operation. They did some follow-up tests. But don’t tell the others.’

I sank down on the bed. ‘Oh, Mum.’

‘It’s all been arranged. The doctor has pushed it through. There’s no need to bother Nathan again. I wouldn’t like that.’

‘No.’

She gave herself a little shake. ‘How nice to celebrate Easter.’ Our eyes met in the mirror. ‘Coming and going,’ she said simply. ‘That’s life.’

I was back in Medlars Cottage, watching my father tamping his pipe on the stove. Ianthe moved across the room bearing buttered scones on a blue and white plate, her apron tied in a bow at the back. Little sausage curls bounced on her forehead, which was flushed from the heat of baking. In the background, a radio played dance music.

Ianthe might have had reservations about seeing Nathan, but she greeted him politely enough and kissed Poppy and Richard. I had filled the room with flowers and lit a fire, and the room was warm, fragrant and – I considered – beautiful. The atmosphere was not easy, but it was not ominous either. Given that the family had been shaken hard and unexpectedly into a new shape, it was the best we could do.

Nathan occupied himself with the drinks. Richard, it transpired, was well trained in handling elderly ladies and he chatted away to Ianthe. Nathan edged over to me. ‘I meant to tell you last time I saw you, Rose, that I like the hair. You’re thinner too.’

‘Thank you. You’re looking… fine.’

He grimaced. ‘You mean older and tired.’ I made no comment. Nathan held out his hand, on which bloomed a patch of eczema. I knew it well. Do something Rose. Can’t let this spread. And I would pat on the cream that I kept specially. You must relax.

‘There’s a tube still in the medicine cabinet if you want to take it,’ I said, and I knew that Minty must have made a scene about him coming.

He shoved his hand into his pocket. ‘Thanks.’

It unsettled me to be so near to Nathan and I snatched up a dish of nuts, thrust them at Ianthe and hightailed into the kitchen. There were sounds signifying that Sam and – I presumed – Alice had arrived and I went into the little-used terracotta-painted dining room to put the finishing touches to the table, which I had laid with translucent white candles, shimmery ribbon, plates of raisins and pink and white sugared almonds, white lilies and white linen.

It was all rather sentimental, and crying into the wind. But I had wanted to put down a marker, a declaration of faith that we would survive, a message, stubborn and optimistic, that we had not been beaten. Anyway, the table looked lovely.

‘Mum.’ A flushed, exciting-looking Sam appeared. ‘I have something to tell you.’ I swung round, thinking, He is going to marry Alice. But behind Sam lurked a figure in a short red skirt and jacket and it was not Alice. It was Jilly.

‘Jilly,’ shrieked Poppy in the background, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘Mum…’ Sam took Jilly’s hand and pulled her forward. From being quite pale, Jilly turned pink.

I pulled myself together and kissed her. ‘How lovely’

Poppy kidnapped Jilly. ‘What is this? I didn’t know you’d be here.’

‘No, you wouldn’t know, because I didn’t tell you.’

Ianthe shook out her best clichés, which she kept for eventualities such as this, where no one had any idea of what exactly was going on. ‘The more the merrier. Jilly, come and sit next to me.’

Rather obviously avoiding Poppy’s eye, Jilly took her seat – or, rather, Alice’s. Sam unfolded his napkin and cleared his throat. ‘Happy Easter, everyone.’

With a lightening of my heart, I knew that something had happened to Sam, which would be for the better.

Jilly asked for water and took a sip. ‘You will be wondering…’

‘Yes, you will.’ Sam placed a hand on Jilly’s arm. Poppy rubbed an eye, which made it water. ‘You’ll be wondering why Alice isn’t here.’

‘Don’t mind us,’ said his sister. ‘Take all night, please.’

Sam looked at Jilly, and Jilly looked right back at Sam, a tender and excited look. Sam cleared his throat. ‘Jilly and I are going to get married.’

‘Good God.’ Nathan put down his glass.

‘How lovely,’ Ianthe echoed.

‘Jilly and I have been seeing each other since the party. It sort of progressed from there.’

A no-doubt foolish but happy smile seeped across my face. I could not help it. Not so Poppy, who was incensed. ‘I thought we shared everything, Jilly. You never said a word.’

‘I couldn’t. It was… private.’ A shade that might possibly have been guilt crossed Jilly’s radiant face, but only a shade. She helped herself to smoked salmon. ‘I didn’t know what was going to happen, and when…’

It was Richard, scenting the coup de grâce, who leant forward and urged softly, And when?’

‘… we discovered,’ Jilly cut a huge piece of salmon and speared it on her fork, ‘I was pregnant.’