‘So tell me, Alice, who uses this space?’ he asked. ‘What sort of activities would you like to see here going forward? Paint me a picture of your ideal week in the life of this hall …’

And, ‘Rob, did I read it was founded by public subscription? Is that a fundraising option now?’

Even, ‘Peter, you’re the expert on local planning process – what other development work’s in the pipeline?’

They picked their way through the piles of muddy leaves into the main hall, which smelled of mould, and slowly Keith moved to the front, leading them like a flock of ducklings. He pointed at the arched windows, at the warped parquet flooring, at the commemorative plaques, and asked questions that gave everybody the chance to offer a nugget of insider knowledge, some of which even Tara hadn’t heard before.

Tara let Alice and Rob steer the discussion; there was a limit to how involved she wanted to be with this. She paused by the stage, framed on each side by red velvet curtains, stained at the bottoms as if they’d gone wading into the river. It was smaller than she remembered. Once upon a time, the stage had seemed daunting – a towering height with nothing beyond it but darkness, a muttering, shuffling sea of invisible judgement.

It had been a joint Brownies and Cubs gang show. She’d tap danced on the end of a line with the other eight-year-olds too shy to perform in a herd smaller than four, while Toby had dressed up as Elton John and belted out ‘Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting’ with a commitment that would have got him on Britain’s Got Talent, had it been around back then. She’d overheard Brown Owl – Tanya Horrock’s mother, Dawn – telling someone it was hard to believe she and Toby were twins, and the someone suggesting Toby had got his dad’s flair. She remembered not knowing what that meant (his flares? His flare?) but sensing from Brown Owl’s giggle that it wasn’t a straightforward compliment.

We were a family then, she thought, as if she was seeing the four of them on a small television screen. Me and Toby, and Mum and Dad. Symmetrical, me and Toby dressed in the same colours, boy and girl, Mum and Dad. Her stomach caved in with longing, and the family vanished.

‘And that’s the stage where I recall there were some dance recitals, eh, Tara?’

She spun round.

Keith was standing right by her. He hadn’t said it loud enough for everyone to hear – he wasn’t making a point – but the glance made it clear he wanted her to know he remembered.

She looked over to see what was happening with the rest of them; Rob and Alice were explaining something about the kitchen area to Conrad and he was sketching something, frowning as they added extra details. Everyone was engrossed in correcting him.