‘And actually, your parents were the only ones who didn’t have some help,’ Nancy said, slightly accusingly. ‘The Frobishers have got Camilla, and the Dugdales are now in Natasha’s barn, and of course, I’m so lucky to have Dan.’ She beamed at her son who raised his eyebrows and grimaced at me as he took a seat.

‘Short straw, I’m afraid. Toby and Jilly are in Northumberland, and Milo’s buggered off to the States with his hotshot lawyer husband. And now that Claire’s buggered off too …’

Oh yes, I remembered now. His wife left. With her personal trainer. No – her daughter’s personal trainer.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said politely, echoing his own words earlier, about Michael.

‘Dan’s not, are you, darling?’ piped up Nancy. ‘She was frightfully selfish, and if she wasn’t thinking about what she put into her body, she was thinking about what shapes to twist it into. Yoga and what have you. Poor old Dan barely got a look in. Now she and her toy boy instructor can self-obsess to their hearts’ content.’

‘Well, there are always two sides, Mum,’ Dan said uncomfortably.

‘And the children?’ I asked, moving quickly on and ignoring Nancy’s opening mouth. ‘They’re well?’

‘Yes, very. Both in London. Tabby’s just got married and Clem’s probably about to. And I can work from home, so I’ve let the London house.’

‘So have I,’ I said in surprise. ‘For similar reasons, actually. Well, sort of.’ I suddenly realized Mum and Nancy were trying not to smile like pussycats and were being very quiet, for them. Almost purring. I sat up straight, realizing I’d fallen right into a trap.

‘Right, come on, Mum, we’re off.’ I got to my feet, and so, reluctantly, did my mother. I crossed to the sofa; gave her a hand. Then I bent and gave Nancy a hug and told her not to move. I shepherded my mother out of the pretty yellow sitting room, followed by Dan. I couldn’t really look at him as we walked to the door, but then, I couldn’t really avoid it as I wrestled with the high brass knob: it was stiff. He came to my rescue.

‘Here, let me.’ He reached up and I removed my hand quickly, lest his should touch mine. I couldn’t avoid his eyes, though, which were smiley and kind, and something else: weary, perhaps, with the knowledge that our mothers were collectively being more unhelpful than they could imagine. He shrugged despairingly, clearly not one to dissemble, and I grinned back in recognition. Then I bid him goodbye.

‘You’re very quiet,’ said my mother when we were almost home. ‘What are you thinking? He’s very nice, isn’t he?’