"I was." He looked at me squarely. "Once. When I was young. About fourteen. I was at boarding school and I was very confused. All my friends were talking about girls but I didn't feel it. I tried to kid myself I was a late developer, but I knew I was different. At home that summer, in the holidays, I was half-heartedly sticking posters of models, the Spice Girls, like my friends had, to the wall by my bed, when I suddenly just broke down and sobbed. Mum came in. She'd been tidying the airing cupboard down the corridor and she heard. She was so sweet. She sat on the bed and hugged me and persuaded me to tell her what was wrong. She listened. When I'd finished, she sat back and, when I looked up, I saw her face was horrified. But she gathered herself. She said, very calmly, that it was natural for adolescent boys to be confused about their sexuality. But that was all it was. An adolescent phase. She said it was entirely possible to choose, to make a decision, one way or the other. And she knew that I knew where my duty lay, to choose the right way. Because if I was to choose the wrong way, that was just a weakness. A giving in, and the only way I'd be truly happy was to avoid that at all costs. She said that if I went the wrong way, if I was to be a homosexual, it would break her heart. She said it would break my father's heart and it would break my grandparents’ hearts. The only boy in the family. And it would destroy the family. Not only that, but its reputation. She was very calm, very measured. And then she got up off the bed and left the room. She didn't hug me, or take my hand, or anything. Twenty minutes later, I was downstairs having tea with my parents and Etta on the terrace, and that was it."

Christina's hand went to her mouth in shock as mine had done when Hugo told me.

“So cruel," she whispered.

“So cruel."

"And Hugo was such an obedient boy."

"Exactly. So biddable. And he told me that from that moment on she maintained that distance, withdrew all maternal love. She was cool towards him. Until he went out on dates, with girls. Then she was warm to him again."

I remembered Hugo's cracked voice: "And I missed that, Flora. Sounds wet, I know. But I loved her so much. I was young. She was my Mum."

As I repeated this to Christina, she had to breathe to steady her anger, her emotion. Tears choked her throat. "He would have done anything to get her love and approval back, Flora."

"Quite. Not like Etta."

"I've only met Etta once, at our wedding."