One morning early, when it was just he and Celia in the kitchen, Stephen asked her about the little glass-topped table on the landing outside his room. The table was in the shape of a clover leaf and had two compartments or shelves, both topped with bevelled glass, in which a number of old medals lay. Their ribbons were frayed and looked faded; the velvet lining each shelf – perhaps once a rich, sunny yellow – was now as pale as unsalted butter. It was mottled, slightly bald in patches, like a patch of dried-out, badly mown grass.

‘That’s a fair old number of medals you’ve got in that case upstairs,’ said Stephen.

‘What?’ said Celia.

‘The table up on the floor where I’m sleeping. The one with the medals.’

‘Oh yes, you mean the trefoil table. It’s rather pretty, isn’t it? I think my great-great-grandmother had it made specially for her husband’s medals.’

‘Mum mentioned that someone in the family had won a medal, one of our ancestors, if that’s what you’d call him. It’s a pretty big deal, isn’t it?’

‘William Gale, you mean. He won the Victoria Cross, which is the highest medal there is. His set are on the lower shelf and then there’re some First World War ones from my father’s side of the family on the top. The VC is the dingiest-looking one, oddly enough. They were made of base metal on purpose, so they wouldn’t have any value. The value was all in the honour of the thing. It was to discourage soldiers or their widows from selling them.’

‘Do you know how he won it? Must’ve done something pretty spectacular.’

‘I’m not entirely sure. Battles aren’t really … I can’t pretend to be very keen on military history. It’s meant to be an important one, I do know that much. The medal. Because of being one of the first, you see. It came to me when Mummy died, the little table. It used to be in my father’s study, at home.’ She sighed.

‘Yeah, I don’t know much about your wars and stuff. Still, it’s great to know someone related to us did good. When was the Crimean war?’

‘I don’t know that they’re our wars, particularly. I can’t quite remember the date. Victorian, in any case. Obviously.’ Celia was already bored and well on the way to becoming irritated. She didn’t want to have to give a history lesson, at this hour of the day. And she felt slightly caught out for not being surer of dates.

‘I don’t know a lot about that. Nothing, actually.’

‘Well, you’ll know about Florence Nightingale. It was the one she nursed in.’

‘No.’

‘You must’ve heard of Florence Nightingale! Everyone’s heard of Florence Nightingale!’ As Celia spoke, Georgie came into the room.