‘My mother brought me up on her own,’ Anna remarked.

‘Did she?’ Krish looked intrigued for a second. ‘But I expect she’s a very different sort of person. My mother’s had so much to deal with – me coming along, not only the bastard baby but the wrong colour as well, and her parents throwing her out . . . She’s heroic, really.’

‘Why did they throw her out?’ Anna asked, feeling compelled to interrupt this hymn of praise. She wondered what version of events Olivia had permitted Krish.

‘Oh, they wanted her to have a nice little job, marry someone rich and influential. You know, all the respectable things. She wanted to play the piano – she’s very gifted, you know – and study. Branch out. She was really a sort of Bohemian at heart.’

‘I see,’ Anna said, carefully. She felt Jake’s eyes on her.

Krish pushed his chair back. ‘I need a proper drink. Coke just isn’t enough for the day I’ve had. Back in a minute.’

‘There’s an off-licence just along the way,’ Jake explained as Krish disappeared. He looked at Anna. ‘At least we’ll be able to deliver him home safely.’

‘What’s going on?’ Anna asked. ‘We’re back to the Blessed Martyr Olivia Kemp bit again.’

‘He does that. When he’s most angry with her he has to get all this stuff in first – how marvellous she is. It’s a kind of pledge of loyalty, I think.’

‘Before he says what he really feels?’

‘Sometimes.’ Jake offered her more rice. ‘He doesn’t find it easy to say anything bad about her.’

Anna refused the rice. She sat back in her chair. ‘I feel I know so many things about her that he doesn’t.’

‘Then tell him.’

‘D’you think it’d really be any help to him to know?’

Jake considered this. ‘He only knows what she’s chosen to tell him. Perhaps it would help to have another version of events.’

‘I can hardly tell him here.’

‘It’s not ideal I know, but I don’t think we’ll get too many chances.’

Krish came back with chilled wine and a four-pack of beer. He pulled off one of the cans and drank thirstily.

‘That’s more like it.’ He grinned at the two of them. ‘Go on, help yourselves. Wine’s open. I got them to do it.’

Anna took a beer and pulled the ring. Cautiously she said, ‘Krish – how much do you know about your mother’s life?’

‘Hardly a thing,’ he said, jovial suddenly. ‘I mean, I have a sort of outline, without much detail. Great parents, nice house. Wrens in the war. London. My father – MY FATHER, in capital letters heavily underlined. The great Krishna Chaudhuri. Me. That’s about it. Don’t know what’s missing – except a screw, in her case!’ He laughed, loudly, but it was drowned by a sudden cheer from one of the other tables. Someone’s birthday. Krish’s dark hands played nervously with the red and green can. He drained it and took a second one. ‘Go on,’ he said to Anna. ‘Let’s have it, then.’