She did still her vocal exercises every night. She rewatched her appearances in obscure soaps (Under the Doctor) and low-rent biopics (Shelly’s Shame). She had a bedroom that was more of a boudoir. When my friends came round she tried to correct their pronunciation and gave them instructions on voice projection and vocal preparation – Breathe deeply from your lower lungs, imagine a rubber ring around your waist and try to push the ring outwards as you breathe in. Shoulders down, breathe in through your nose, out through your nose and mouth. Bend your knees – not THAT much, you look like you’re on the toilet … Relax! RELAX!

We had hot holidays. A 20-inch TV. I swanned around school in my Clarks Magic Steps with the hidden key in the heel. I used to drive with her on the ring road, to and from the satellite towns where she performed: Sale, Altrincham, Eccles, Weaste. Me, riding shotgun, solemn as a priestess. I used to saunter into those clubs and pubs, those half-done places that smelled of stale beer and freshly sawn wood. I saw the staff and punters nudging each other. There, look, it’s her. The Daughter. The One.

And so that night at the restaurant, I watched her carefully with Art. The way she straightened his napkin for him, pleased on a helpless level, and it was like seeing her smooth the tie of someone who’d never existed. She was relieved. She didn’t have to worry I was going to be left stranded. I’d met a man, a socially mobile, upward man, and she, for all her old feminist foot-bones, could relax on account of the fact I had safely – finally (that shelf was getting dusty!) – entered some version of adulthood.

INT. YOUNG JENNY’S BEDROOM

Night. A single bed with a rainbow-patterned duvet cover. A rug. A full bookshelf. A bedside lamp on. Everything small and infused with hope. Jenny is in bed. Carmen is pacing the room, reading from a book.

CARMEN (over-emphasising): Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be OUTRAGEOUS. Go the WHOLE HOG. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it’s UNBELIEVABLE.

Jenny picks at a patch of loose paint on the wall. Carmen stops reading.

CARMEN: Right, that’s it.

JENNY: What?

CARMEN: You’re not listening!

JENNY: I am!

CARMEN: Do you know how much people pay to come and see me these days?

JENNY: A million pounds.

CARMEN: Seven fifty with booking fee.

JENNY: Wow.

CARMEN: Look. I’ve worked a long day after a long night and I’m off to work again as soon as Aunty Bev gets here and I’m trying to make precious time for my daughter and she could not care less.

JENNY: I was listening.

CARMEN: You weren’t! You couldn’t give a monkey’s. Here I am, giving it my all. TO THE WALL.