At the kitchen table of her new house in Fulham, she wrote a note, another simple jot of words.

Dear Joan,

I wish to see Ian for tea. Please send him at four pm this Friday, 27th.

Yours etc,

Enid

After she posted it, she came home, got out a fresh sheet and wrote another note, which she folded and left on the hall table beside the front door. Joan’s reply arrived a few days later.

She waited by the window. Her sister’s Rolls Royce slid to a stop outside number thirty-nine Evelyn Gardens at precisely four o’clock. From the rich interior came the same uniformed nanny, followed by Ian. He was dressed in another smart little suit with the same teddy bear squashed under his arm. She ran downstairs, picked up the note, opened the door, smiled and said, “Hello.”

The nanny didn’t smile, but Ian raised his eyes to meet hers. She grabbed his arm, shoved the note into his nanny’s hands, pulled him across the threshold and slammed the door. It could only have taken her seconds to read it.

The woman started hammering and shouting. Enid opened the cupboard under the stairs, scuttled him into it and flattened herself against the wall. He screamed and went quiet. After the nanny left she got him upstairs and looked at him in the light of the sitting-room window. There was a dark stain spread across his trousers. No matter. She’d already organised a box of Fagus’ old clothes to fit him.

“It’s all right, Ian. I’m – you’re here for tea. Nanny will be back in a minute. Shall we get you out of those wet things? Here, wait here.” She’d already made Ian’s room, look just, almost, nearly, like Fagus’ used to. When she’d gone to pack up Cherry Trees, she’d found their things barely touched, as if Douglas had taken nothing – a ghost house, the occupants disappeared, their things left perfectly in place. She’d taken everything, like an automaton set on a future some other part of her could see; as if she’d known she’d need the basket of knitted rabbits, the merry-go-round of wooden zebras, the hobby horse leant in the corner, the blanket spread on the single bed.

She came back with a pair of trousers and held them up to him. “Will these fit you?” They looked too big. “Perhaps I can find a cord to tie them.” She fetched some string from her sewing box and looped it through the belt holes. “There. Shall we have tea? You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

She picked him up and plonked him on a chair at the tea table. It was set and laden and completely ready. Cake, sandwiches, tea for her and milk for him; she’d bought the cake especially, but he didn’t eat and neither did she.