I smiled back. That afternoon: Granny’s graphic display of her frustrations, Olivia’s strange mood – the start of so many more.

‘I thought your mother would burst she was so angry.’

‘Oh no. That’d be far too self-indulgent. She’s prepared to permit herself some emotions, provided they’re all brisk, positive ones.’

‘You’re very hard on her.’

‘I’ve had to live with her. Your mother’s so relaxed and warm compared with mine.’

Angus nodded, unable to contradict me. He watched me, head on one side. ‘How’s Livy getting on?’

‘Oh, like a house on fire apparently.’ I couldn’t help the bitter edge to my voice. ‘Taking the Wrens by storm, one long party, all marvellous . . .’ I spoke mocking the tone of those breezy notes which made me feel so cut off from her in their twittering, persuasive brightness.

‘So what’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know who she is any more. As if we can’t ever tell each other anything. It used not to be like this.’

‘Don’t let it upset you.’ He squeezed my hands, his own cupped warm and comforting around them. ‘Everyone has different ways of getting through all this. Maybe that’s hers.’

I was staring down at the cloth. ‘It just feels as if I’m losing everyone – the people who really matter, anyway. Still – ’ I loosed one hand to take a sip from my glass, looking at the flames through the deep red liquid. ‘Mustn’t start feeling sorry for myself.’

‘Oh, go on – I was rather enjoying it,’ Angus teased.

‘At least you’re here – that’s the main thing.’

He shook his head slowly. His hair was so short now, clipped very precisely round his ears. ‘I’m not certain for how much longer.’ He spoke reluctantly.

‘What does that mean?’

He leaned forward and whispered, very close to my ear: ‘Strong possibility of an overseas posting coming up.’

‘Oh, Angus, no!’ I put my glass down, catching the base on the ashtray. Red wine bled slowly across the white cloth. I sprinkled salt on the stain and it turned a sickly pink. I felt tears rising in me. Angus going away, no home leaves, never seeing him. I cursed myself for being so self-centred.

‘Look – we haven’t actually heard anything yet.’

I looked across at him in silence. He took my hand and squeezed it. ‘Come on, Katie. Let’s go up.’

He teased me out of my despondency on the way up the dark staircase, trying to lift me up, sweeping me off my feet.

‘I wouldn’t have even attempted this a few years ago,’ he said, pretending to stagger across the landing. ‘You’re not quite such a lump nowadays.’

I kicked and protested, and high on the wine we found ourselves tangled, giggling on the bed in our little room. The fire was still alight, and we left the light off and settled in front of it. The playful mood lasted. Together we laid the eiderdown and a scratchy rug on the floor by the grate, then knelt opposite each other.