This evening, Ursula was in particularly poisonous form. Snipping at Emer every time she opened her mouth, watching her plate like a hawk to make sure she wasn’t overeating. They were having dinner in the large dining room at the front of the house. The room was far too big for three people, but Ursula insisted on eating every meal in here. Another of her affectations that Emer couldn’t stand. The kitchen, at the back of the house, had been extended last year to include a large dining area that, as far as Emer could tell, was for show only.

‘I hear Dr Kennedy is looking for a new receptionist,’ Ursula said, looking pointedly at Emer. ‘Is that something you might think about applying for?’

‘I hadn’t really thought about being a receptionist,’ Emer said. ‘The thing is, Ursula, I’d rather hoped with a history degree I might get something better than a job as a receptionist in a doctor’s surgery.’

It had been Ursula’s idea for Emer to call her by her name, instead of ‘Mum’. On the morning of Emer’s eighteen birthday, Ursula had sat her daughter down and told her she had something important to talk to her about.

‘Mum doesn’t feel right now you’re an adult. People are always telling me I look far too young to have an eighteen-year-old daughter. Think what fun it will be if you start calling me Ursula instead. People will think we’re sisters.’

All of this, Emer remembered sourly, delivered without a trace of irony.

‘The problem is,’ Ursula said. ‘You haven’t been very successful at finding anything better, have you?’