‘Pub supper? Give them the slip? Leave them in front of beans on toast and Holby City one night?’

‘Oh. I see. Um … yes, that would be lovely.’

‘OK.’ He sounded surprised at my lukewarm enthusiasm. ‘Tomorrow any good?’

‘Tomorrow I think I’m going to London.’

He was quiet. I hadn’t suggested another day.

‘Friday?’ he said tentatively.

‘Yes, Friday,’ I managed. There was a pause.

‘You all right?’

It was the kindness in his voice that almost made me choke. Something I was so very unused to in a man, unless it was my son, or my father. I couldn’t speak for a moment: felt my eyes fill with tears which spilled silently down my cheeks. ‘Yes,’ I managed to gasp. ‘I’m fine. See you Friday.’ And then I put the phone down and wept.

The following day I drove to London, hands clenched on the wheel, teeth gritted. I knew I had to get this over with and that, if I left it even a day, it would hang over me like the cloak of doom. Ridiculous, I told myself, that it had had such an effect on me. A night’s sleep – well, four hours, I’d tossed and turned for much of it – and a fresh dawn had assured me that I was being faintly foolish, here. Amanda couldn’t go ahead without our consent, surely, and even if she did, so what? So what if she had her stupid, pompous service and we weren’t there? Oddly, though, the ramifications of that, for me in particular, had me gripping the wheel even tighter as my eyes grew huge with a different fear. A glance in the rear-view mirror told me that my face was very pasty and slightly sweaty, too. I breathed from the diaphragm, like Helena told me she did before she went into the boardroom to present to a client, and turned on Radio 2, hoping for some cheerful, sing-along music. ‘Amarillo’ came on, but even the thought of Peter Kay’s face failed to lift me.

I’d left my parents clearly rather excited at the prospect of a day without me. Mum had even clasped her hands with glee.

‘We’ll have the Millers round,’ she said to Dad. ‘Hetty rang me yesterday, to see if we were free.’

‘Why can’t you have them when I’m here?’ I asked.

‘Oh, we can, of course, darling, but – you know.’

Without me they could raid the drinks cupboard and have a lot more fun. I felt like a jailer. And rather sad, actually. I certainly didn’t want to spoil their fun.

‘She just means we have to be a bit careful who we have with the Millers. Hetty’s incontinent and doesn’t always make it, and Bertie gets a bit muddled and inappropriate with the young. He can be inclined to be saucy.’

‘Right. Do I count as young?’