She started to cry, weak, tired-sounding sobs. My mother steered her into the study and Daddy went in behind, shutting the door.

‘What’s going on?’ William was standing sleepily at my shoulder with only his pyjama trousers on. ‘Did I hear some sort of rumpus down there?’

‘It’s Elizabeth Kemp – crying her eyes out,’ I whispered.

‘Why?’

‘Don’t know. Can’t hear now anyway. Ssh – let’s go down and listen.’

‘Kate, we shouldn’t . . .’ That was William for you. Rather stodgy.

But he followed me part of the way down the stairs. I stood at the bottom, listening so intently that even my own breathing felt like an interruption.

For a time the three adults in the study talked in low voices. There were questions, answers, short exchanges, but I could only hear the tone of their voices and not the words. But suddenly there came an anguished outburst from Elizabeth that sent William and me haring back to the top of the staircase.

‘I can’t. I can’t do it. I just couldn’t bear it!’ And the sobbing began again.

‘Whatever’s the matter with the woman?’ William asked. ‘I’ve never heard anything like it.’

For a second I felt annoyed at his superior tone, his implying that Elizabeth was making an unnecessary fuss about something. Of course our own mother behaving in this way was quite unimaginable, but I felt churned up inside by the sounds of such terrible unhappiness downstairs, even though I had no idea what the matter was.

After more quiet talking the door opened. We squatted down, one at each side of the top step, hidden by the carved wood of the banister. I was astonished to see that Mummy had her arm round Elizabeth’s shoulders.

In an exhausted but formal voice Elizabeth Kemp said, ‘Thank you for your advice. I’m sorry to have put you in such a difficult position.’ She glanced distractedly at a half sheet of paper she was holding. ‘I’ll do something as soon as I can. Next week.’

With a strange gentleness my parents closed the door behind her and Mummy turned and leaned wearily against it. She looked unusually vulnerable, standing there like that in those hairpins, her emotion all clenched up inside.

In a high voice she said, ‘Heavens above.’

My father shook his head sadly. ‘Sometimes I wonder if the middle classes don’t have it worse. All this business of keeping up appearances.’

‘Thank goodness we’ve not had that to contend with.’ Mummy sounded close to tears. Daddy went over to her and took her in his arms and she leaned against him, both of them standing in silence.

Unused to witnessing such intimacy, William and I avoided looking at each other. As our parents moved apart, the two of us shot into our bedrooms.

* * *

OLIVIA

Before she had me, Mummy gave birth to her first baby at home. I know because she told me, early on sometime. Though she very seldom spoke to me of her feelings, there was no one else she could confide in, only her little girl. Who was too young. She couldn’t seem to let things out gently. Her words were like shards of glass coughed up from her throat. She was in labour for five days, and the baby, who would have been my elder brother, was born blue and without breath. They had to stitch her up inside, tight like a hessian sack.