"Excellent." I sailed back inside, leaving him to his phone. I was thrilled to see Celia had got fresh bread this morning — she must have been up early. Notice how I was thrilled. I sliced and buttered away. Not just pleased, as most mothers would be. Oh yes, I caught myself out regularly. I found a lemon — which we always had for the gin, no surprise there — and loaded a tray with a pile of sandwiches, a bottle of rosé, a couple of glasses, and then, with joy, I have to tell you, in my heart, swept back outside. This was turning into a very good day. And with Ted coming for supper tonight — well. Who knows? Perhaps Shelley von Strunckel had been right after all when she'd said the sun in Uranus was going to spark a spectacular chain of events for Virgos: perhaps the wheel of fortune, which for so long had been hanging limply by its axle, would be spinning merrily before long.

Peter had the grace to swing his legs round off the table and pocket his phone. He even took the tray from me as I sat down. He looked greedily at the pile of sandwiches.

"Oh great. Thanks, Mum. Been surfing with the boys all morning."

I smiled indulgently as he took one and slipped a plate his way. I took one for myself and poured us both a glass of wine, by which time he was reaching for his next sandwich.

"From Annie's?" he asked through a mouthful.

"Where else?"

He made a circle with forefinger and thumb. "Best crab in Cornwall. Do they still know you in there?"

"Certainly they do. Well, at least Bob and Annie do. Kelly gives me a funny look as if she almost recognizes me but can't quite place me, but then I struggle, too. She's so changed. It's always the same when you've been at school with someone then see them hundreds of years later."

“Tell me about it. I saw a boy the other day who was my head of house when I arrived and he was like — a man!"

I laughed. "Well, he'd be twenty-three or so by now, which is a man."

"I suppose." He looked thoughtful. "Although not really, these days, d'you think?"

"No. I read in the paper the other day that childhood goes on until twenty-four, would you believe it, now that we're all living till we're a hundred. So you've got bags of time yet."

"Exactly." Somehow that seemed to suit both of us.

"Which is sort of why I popped in."

"Oh? Not just desperate to see your mother?"

“Well, yeah . . .”

I laughed. "Go on."

"Well . . . the thing is, Mum, I think I might delay Oxford."

I frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"Just by a year."

I stared at him. "But, Peter, you wrote and asked if you could have a gap year. They said no."

"I know, but I could reapply."