‘Midday, somewhere on the seafront.’

‘I assumed she’d be with Mum.’

Martin shakes his head. ‘Apparently it’ll just be her maid of honour at the house.’

The electric pop of the idea straightens William’s spine. ‘In that case, I’ll duck out of lunch too. You can drop me off at Mum’s.’

Martin raises his eyebrows. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘She’ll be busy, and how will you get to the church?’

‘It’s the local one, it can’t be that far.’ With a kick of adrenaline he adds, ‘If it goes well, I might even get a lift!’

‘Can I help you?’ The woman at the door is about Evelyn’s age, and for a second, William searches her face for signs of his mother, but then realises of course it’s not her. ‘We’re a bit preoccupied at the moment,’ she says, already poised to close the door with a polite smile.

‘I’ve come to see Evelyn.’

Both hands fly to her mouth and she takes a step back. ‘Dear Lord, it’s William, isn’t it?’

He nods.

‘Hang on.’ She pushes the door carefully until the catch clicks gently shut. Her figure darts to the left. William studies the concrete slabs under his feet. Then a change in the light makes him look up and his lungs inflate suddenly. Even through the opaque glass, her movement, the angle of her arms at her side, the tilt of her head, is as familiar as an old ache.

The door opens. Huge curlers, quilted dressing gown buttoned to the neck, red slippers. Full make-up. Different. The same. She stands with her hand on the door, still and silent.

‘Well,’ she says, a ghost of a smile lifting one side of her mouth, ‘if it isn’t his Lordship.’ She talks softly. ‘It’s good to see you, William.’

She leans towards him, one arm held out, and he thinks for a moment she’s going to shake his hand. But she’s reaching to his face. She touches it gently, briefly, then puts her hand in a pocket.

‘Let me look at you for a minute. William James, twenty-six years old.’

‘Hello, Mum.’

‘Hello, William.’ She steps back and gestures into the hallway. ‘Are you coming in?’

She leads him into a spacious sitting room, awash with light from the large bay window made up of small rectangular panes, some with distorting balls of glass.

‘Have a seat.’ She points to a generous plush sofa. Once he’s sat down, she sits opposite on a matching armchair with wide arms. The woman who answered the door comes in. Her cheeks are scarlet and she holds her hand to her chest.

‘Evelyn, the car will be here in an hour and we’ve not done your hair or nails yet.’

‘I won’t stay long,’ William says, ‘I just wanted to see you before you got married.’