‘This summer, ready for you to start school in September, and I’ll look for a job!’

‘Wow.’ He sits back in his chair.

‘And you’ll never guess what?’

‘What?’

‘When I leave you today, I’m driving to Wales for two weeks to check it out. Then, I’ll come straight from there to hear you sing the “Miserere”!’ She leans back for the first time. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this, William. A really good feeling.’

‘Where will you stay?’

‘In a B&B – I’m thinking of it as a little holiday. Then if I like it, you and I will go to look at houses and visit the school as soon as term ends.’

The prospect is certainly a lot more exciting than spending the summer in Sutton Coldfield. ‘Have you told Uncle Robert?’

She shakes her head. ‘Not yet, no need.’

Their food arrives; he stares at his plate for a moment. ‘They’ll miss us.’

‘They’ll miss you, William, let’s be honest, but I’m sure they’ll manage.’

He reaches into his pocket, hoping her good mood will make this easier. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Ash Wednesday. You told me in your last letter Robert couldn’t come because of his back.’

‘Yep.’ A slash of poppy red has bloomed on each of her cheeks. She concentrates on her plate.

Embarrassed and sad for her, he says, ‘You told him not to come.’

She swallows and her mouth shrinks. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I wrote to him, about how excited I was.’ William puts the letter on the table. ‘And he sent me this.’

Evelyn stares at the small brown envelope with four lines of Robert’s neat, italic script and wipes her mouth with the napkin, leaving a smudge of lipstick on it.

‘When did you write to him?’

‘I write to him every week.’

Evelyn smooths the napkin across her lap. ‘You’ve never mentioned that.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t like it.’

‘Nonsense!’ She tries a little laugh.

‘It’s not,’ William says, trying to keep his voice gentle, ‘you know it’s not.’

They both eat for a few moments, then William picks up the envelope, pulling the blue paper from it. ‘“Of course,”’ he reads slowly, ‘“I wouldn’t miss hearing you sing the ‘Miserere’ for the world, but your mother thinks the pressure of having her, me and Howard would be too much for you. I thought of coming on my own, but I’m afraid I’d be too sad to leave Howard out, so I’m sorry, William, we won’t be there for this one. I hope you understand, I must respect your mother’s wishes.”’ William drops the letter on the table.

‘Robert’s been economical with the truth,’ she says softly.

‘How?’