Thinking about Martin made her realise she’d better let him and Cressida know about William and that she should do it face-to-face. She’d email him to invite them over. But the more she thought about telling him, the more nervous she became. She ought to phone but didn’t want to.

She didn’t escape talking to him. He rang right back as soon as he got her email. ‘What is this thing you want to tell us, Ma? Nothing silly, I hope.’

‘What do you mean? What could I be telling you that’s silly?’ She knew exactly what he meant though, and in his eyes, yes, it was silly.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But I think it would be better if you came here to tell us whatever it is.’

‘I was going to make the stew you like with the cheese scones.’

‘So, you wanted to butter me up with my favourite food.’

She didn’t bother to deny it. ‘I just thought you’d like it.’

‘Come to us. Tomorrow night? About seven. Cressida would never eat stew and scones.’

Chapter Thirty-four

She brought flowers from her garden, already in her jam jar so Cressida wouldn’t have to worry about finding a vase (she might not even have a vase), some cheese straws (Martin loved anything cheesy) and a book for Ismene. She also got out a bottle of wine from the cellar which she thought looked OK although she couldn’t remember much about it. She’d bought it after a long and persuasive phone call from a famous wine merchant some time ago. Now she really hoped it was nice. On Martin and Cressida’s doorstep, waiting for the bell to be answered, she wished she’d brought two bottles.

‘Mum! Hi!’ said Martin. He hugged her briefly. He made Gilly feel wary.

‘Hello, darling. How lovely to see you! Is everyone well? It seems ages.’

‘Well, come in. Oh, thank you for this,’ he said, taking the bottle and leaving Gilly with her arms still fairly full.

Cressida, looking very well groomed and thin, was perched on the edge of the sofa, her knees clamped together. She had very tense legs, Gilly felt, and now, when she got up, every sinew of them was visible. ‘Gilly! You brought flowers, how lovely!’

‘Yes,’ said Gilly, handing them over. ‘They just need some water. You don’t need to rush around trying to find a vase for them.’

‘Very thoughtful,’ said her daughter-in-law, although Gilly suspected she was the sort of person who thought flowers in jam jars was a bit ‘shabby chic’ and not her style.

‘And where’s my lovely granddaughter?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got a book for her that she might like.’

‘She’s staying with a friend. We felt we could relax more if she wasn’t here.’

‘Oh. Well, let me know if she likes the book. I could get more by that author.’