‘She slammed the fucking door in my face!’ she fumed, as I was dishing out the bread and butter pudding. ‘I went round to tell her what I thought of her glorifying a man who’d bullied his wife and children for years and she screamed in my face that it was none of my business. She hustled me – literally, hustled me, as in shoved – down the hall, called me a heartless bitch and slammed the door on my foot!’

‘I’ll go,’ I told her. ‘I’m the only one she’ll listen to. Who she’ll have to listen to.’

‘And I’ll come with you.’

‘No. Thank you, darling, but I think I’ll be better alone.’

She was quiet. ‘Don’t go to her house,’ she said softly, and I could tell she’d had a really horrible experience. ‘Meet her somewhere public. And tell me and Ned where you’re going.’

I paused. Went cold. ‘OK.’

My parents, as a rule, went to bed early. Really early, at about nine thirty – making it to the news was a big night out – which Camilla Frobisher, who’d sweetly telephoned to see how I was getting on, and to arrange a coffee, had caustically told me was the only silver lining. When they’d gone up, comparatively sober these days, just the one bottle of wine between the three of us at supper and with a great deal more food inside them, I sat in front of Newsnight: not listening, not seeing anything. Just thinking. Remembering. The time he took Imo’s phone from her bag and erased all the contacts he didn’t know. When he rang her boss and told him she was thinking of leaving. The times he’d wondered aloud if I’d meant to drive so fast across that crossroads? Send that motorbike flying? If actually, there was no such thing as accidents, that everything was premeditated. The time he’d found a photo of Ned and a friend, Sam, their arms linked, and—

My mobile made me jump. It was a number I didn’t recognize. For one ridiculous moment, because of where I’d been, I wondered if it was Michael. Then I came to. Picked it up. My voice, when I said hello, was almost a whisper.

‘Hello, Lucy?’ said a much clearer, male voice on the other end.

I cleared my throat, rattled. ‘Yes?’

‘You sound miles away. It’s Dan.’

‘Oh. Hi, Dan.’ I rallied. Well, a bit. Not really. He was from my new, pleasant life, that I couldn’t really live any more.

‘Sorry, I’ve just realized how late it is. I’ve been away and only just got back.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘I was just wondering, seeing as we both seem to be in the same boat on the geriatric parent front, whether you’d like a night off?’

‘Sorry?’ I wasn’t firing on all cylinders.