It’s been a while since William has seen such dressed-up tables and people. Not since he was a boy chorister in Cambridge and sang at Formal Hall, or one-off special occasions. He quickly pushes the memories away, but not before registering a difference. Even as a ten-year-old, William understood that those seated at high table hadn’t arrived, they’d always been there, and opulence was no treat. Tonight’s excitement is palpable, so too the satisfaction of these embalmers who have earned an evening of opulence, a reward for their dedication to exacting, important work; the work of their grandfathers, their fathers, and for some, their sons.

After the hard graft and study of the last year, William is happy to take his place in a world in which you do a difficult but honourable job to the very best of your ability, most of the time for little reward beyond your own sense of satisfaction. But every now and then, you get to pat each other on the back and go swanky.

The fish soup is salty, but delicious eaten with the dainty roll he’s daubed with curls of ridged butter. William is using the perfectly round spoon, tipping the bowl away from him when he gets to the bottom. He notices that Gloria is watching him, beaming her warmth through her lively green eyes.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he says quietly.

‘I’m glad you asked me.’ She grins, and holds his gaze long enough to let William feel he can gently rest his leg against hers under the table.

The roast pork, crackling and apple sauce move from William’s plate, to his mouth, to his stomach easily, and it makes him happy to see Uncle Robert’s bright-eyed enjoyment of the evening. But during pudding, he notices David Melling at the top table patting his breast pocket and removing a piece of paper, which he unfolds and looks at over his glasses. The jam roly-poly expands in William’s mouth. The weighty cutlery slides in his palms.

Gloria glances at the top table then back at William and slips him a wink. ‘Get ready for the fuss,’ she whispers, leaning so close he feels her breath on his ear and smells her perfume. They joked earlier about quite what that would mean. Gloria thought they might sing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’, and William, desperate to appear nonchalant and funny, said he hoped they’d stand him on a very high pedestal and bow down.