She was holding the feather by the quill. Her eyes were curious, probing as they met mine. ‘It’s such a pretty blue, isn’t it?’ she said.

I nodded and told her I was going to put the kettle on, then I concentrated on going down the stairs slowly, deliberately, in the manner of a man with a clear conscience. In the kitchen I filled the kettle, switched it on, my mind racing. Enid wasn’t the kind of woman to let things go without an explanation. I could tell her I was having an affair with someone. Who?

A burlesque dancer?

I could tell her that a window was open and the feather flew in.

But when I gave her the cup of tea, Enid didn’t mention it again; I didn’t mention it either and she let the mystery go.

And I think the reason she let it go was that she knew it was mine all along.

I’ve got her ashes here in a mahogany box. Betty says I should scatter them somewhere meaningful, but Enid isn’t the kind of person who’d like to be scattered. She was a very together sort of person and she disapproved of littering.

I don’t know what to do with the dress. I pace the bedroom, in need of advice, and I sit on the bed and call Dinah.

‘Hello, who is this?’ she asks piercingly on answering the phone.

Enid always answered the phone by reciting our phone number. I never understood why, because obviously the person calling already knew it.

‘It’s Kim. I’ve had a dreadful experience.’

‘Dahlink!’ she says sympathetically. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I want you to be sensible,’ I tell her hopelessly. ‘I want you to be my moral compass.’

‘I’ll come at once,’ she says. ‘Tell me your address.’

When Dinah arrives, I take her into the parlour. She sits on the sofa in a patch of sunlight, adjusting her dress over her knees, and I tell her about the two women in Kentish Town who made rude comments about my turban.

‘So what?’ she asks mildly.

‘How can you ask that? It was embarrassing.’

She takes a Cadbury’s chocolate finger from the blue willow-pattern plate. ‘These two women, are they people whose opinions you respect?’

‘No, but it was the very idea that they had a right to comment about me, to my face.’ I can feel my indignation rising.

She purses her lips and changes position on the sofa, propping her elbow on the arm of the chair. After some thought, she meets my eyes and says, ‘Kim, I know what it’s like to be reviled.’