I licked my lips. We were pulling into the long wooded front drive now, not the way I'd approached with Celia. It was a mile in length, and darkness fell as we plunged through the trees, then suddenly rose again, surrounded by banks of glossy pink rhododendron bushes, livid flashes of fuchsia, blush and white.

"Well, we all had lunch together on the first day . . ."

"Excellent," he looked at me admiringly.

"But other than that," I said quickly, "I just — you know pop in to paint. But Granny has asked Celia and me to supper tonight."

"And you're coming?"

"Yes. We're coming."

He smiled. "Well done, Mum."

I didn't answer. Couldn't really. My throat felt a bit blocked. This had been Peter's dream since he was a small boy: for his parents to get on properly, not just present a united front at school, and I selfishly hadn't given it to him. Until now. It's not much to ask, is it? But I'd found it a lot. Peter was fiercely loyal to me, I knew that, and protective of my feelings, so to have me come here, of my own volition, with no persuading from him, in the house he liked to visit most of all, and to which he would bring friends to sail and swim, was very special. It occurred to me then, as it had done before, that of course Josie didn't necessarily want to go on holiday with her ex-husband, that she wasn't thinking of herself. She was bigger than that.

And I'd made up my mind to be more like that: had made a conscious decision yesterday, actually, just before, coincidentally, Belinda had intercepted me in the hall — minus the knives, I was relieved to notice — and after I'd had a slightly more successful session with Roger. The test match had started, glory be, and the radio provided a good few hours of calm. She'd breathlessly presented me with the invitation for tonight's supper with all her gushing generosity, like a well-behaved child with a special treat to share.

"We would so love it, Roger and I, if you would join us, Flora.” She always said that. Roger and I. Like the Queen. My husband and I. “Everyone would love it, honestly."

It was as if she'd canvassed opinion. Said at lunch, her face concerned and caring: "Now, listen, everyone. I feel we have to invite Flora and her friend. It would be too awkward not to, with Peter here."

Grave nods round the table as the family Did The Right Thing. I'm probably wrong. Not about Belinda, but about the rest. Hugo had always encouraged my presence and Christina had only recently sent me a Paperless Post invite with a little note attached, explaining there were loads of people coming — i.e. not too stressful, well diluted — and that it was a barbecue — i.e. relaxed. She hoped I'd come. I hadn't.