Janine opted for the pasty, admitting that she was worn out and would do as her father suggested and have a nap when they’d eaten. Back in their kitchen Albert warmed the pie, buttered some bread and made a pot of tea, the words that his daughter had used repeating themselves in the back of his mind as he did so. I even felt kinda squeamish when I were helpin’ Mr Clarke with a batch of Gold Flake.

They had finished their meal and Albert was rising to his feet, about to start the washing up and telling Janine that she must go and lie down on her bed, when he remembered where he had heard the words before. His dearest Louisa, the best helpmate a man could hope for, had used those very words, or something very like them, not long after the doctor at the clinic had confirmed her pregnancy. Without a moment’s hesitation he sat down again opposite his daughter. ‘You’re in the family way,’ he said. ‘My dear child, why didn’t you tell me? I do trust you aren’t going to try to deny it, because I remember, when your mother was expecting you, she had to stop helping me in the shop because the smell of tobacco made her feel sick. Oh, not at once, but later on, when her time was near.’

Janine stared at him, opened her mouth, Albert thought, to repudiate the whole idea, and then changed her mind. She nodded. ‘Yes, Dad, you’ve hit the nail on the head. I’m pregnant. Are you shocked?’

Albert raised his brows. ‘Why on earth should I be shocked?’ he asked fondly. ‘But when you told Mario, didn’t that soften his attitude? And you will be making Mr Da Silva a grandfather; if I am delighted at the thought of – of grandfatherhood, then surely he must feel the same. When’s the baby due?’

Janine shrugged. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said sulkily. ‘It could be any time, I suppose.’ She prodded a finger at her stomach. ‘I seem to have been huge for at least a year already.’

‘Then you must have known you were expecting in plenty of time to tell the Da Silvas the happy news,’ Albert said. Janine raised her eyes from the contemplation of her drink and met her father’s gaze squarely.

‘Oh, Dad, they aren’t like us . . .’ she began, but Albert had heard the syrupy note enter her voice and knew at once that he would not get the truth from her without a struggle. She was beginning to say that Mr Da Silva had several grandchildren already when Albert brought his fist down hard on the kitchen table, stopping her in mid-sentence.

‘Janine, I can always tell when you’re lying, and you’re lying now,’ he said harshly. ‘I’m willing to help you in any way I can – for the child’s sake as well as your own – but I won’t let you draw me into a life of lies. Why did you tell Edie that you had modelled gowns? It wasn’t true and it got you nowhere. Why did you pretend you liked animals, when it rapidly became obvious that you were frightened of them? You behaved as if the kittens had claws like scimitars, or as though you thought the tortoises would seize the lettuce leaf you were offering and drag you into their cage with them! My dear child, your mother and I called it fibbing when you were young, but now that you’re an adult we must both acknowledge that you’ve been telling lies. So make up your mind that unless I get the truth out of you I shall simply write to the Da Silvas to ask why they have treated my daughter so badly.’