‘Marianne! Can’t you see that the man is trouble? For a start he’s married.’

‘Divorced. That’s the source of all his financial woes.’

‘And his son ran off with Theresa’s grandchild. Please don’t complicate my life any more than it is already. And by the way, his wife is due in town at any moment.’

‘Ex-wife. And anyhow, what’s sauce for the goose . . .’

Sally was trying to form the words to respond to this when there was a sharp rap on the front door.

‘That’ll probably be him.’ Marianne strode towards the door and opened up. But it was Eggy, standing there on the doorstep, looking penitent, stooped and beat.

‘Do you mind if I have a few words with your mum?’ He hovered, without stepping inside, wringing his hands, the very picture of misery. Marianne turned to her mother, pulled a face and strode past him and out. ‘See you later, Mum.’ Then she made a condescending face in Eggy’s direction. ‘And please may I say, Mr Markham, that I do so admire your work – both your own and that of your charming wife.’

And she was gone.

As Eggy stood there, looking pitiful, instinctively Sally rewound both Marianne’s very convincing compliment and her own life, realising that when members of the public volunteered such lavish praise they were probably lying, and had only flattered you for something to say when confronted with the presence of a famous face. A kind of nervous embarrassment. How very disappointing!

‘Please come in, Eggy.’

‘Thank you, Sally.’ Cautiously he stepped inside and closed the door. ‘Look. I’m so sorry, Sally. I don’t know where to start . . .’

‘Let’s both sit down, shall we? Would you like some tea, toast?’

Eggy shook his head. Sally realised he really must be feeling bad. Tea and toast were normally top of his wish list.

She sat down in the armchair opposite the sofa, where he perched, picking at the fabric of his trousers.

‘First, I will of course pick up the tab for the repairs to your car, and if you want can provide you with a hire car while you’re waiting.’

Sally’s reflex was to tell him it was fine and that he didn’t have to, but she realised that really he should pay.

She stayed silent.

‘Phoo is going through a very difficult patch . . .’

Again Sally held back a sarcastic retort.