‘I don’t recollect hearing that name.’ Stephen’s neck had gone pink.

‘The Lady with the Lamp,’ said Celia. ‘Georgie, do you know, Stephen here has never heard of Florence Nightingale!’

‘So what?’ said Georgie, lifting the lid of the bread crock.

‘It’s not a thing we study in school,’ said Stephen. ‘Who was she, anyhow?’

‘Well, she …’ Celia found quite suddenly that she could recall absolutely nothing about Florence Nightingale.

Georgie interjected. ‘Didn’t she clean up the hospitals? Wasn’t it that they all used to die from their wounds going gangrenous in the heat, but she invented disinfectant. Or carbolic soap, or something. Cass did a mini-project on her, do you remember, at school? We could ask her.’

‘Yes, yes, carbolic. I think that was it,’ said Celia. But she wasn’t sure.

‘Oh. Right,’ said Stephen. He didn’t want to annoy Celia by asking any more questions.

Celia could be friendly, but she had a harsh side and you never knew when it might come out. She seemed to pick on Georgie in particular. Generally it was when she’d been drinking her red wine: her eyes would get a glassy look and sometimes there’d be a dark line, like a scab, along her lower lip. But she could be a bit sharp at any time. Nick was safer. As long as he was talking about himself – inviting you to share his wonder at himself, really – he was all right. Georgie was more like her mother, but she could also be unexpectedly kind. She thought more about other people than Cass did, even though Cass was a gentler soul.