SAM IS AT THE WHEEL AS THEY DRIVE WESTWARDS, THROUGH the terraces and pound stores of Wincheap, out to where the city thins and frays into the ribbons of main roads that lead to London, to the coast. They are late. She and Tom were asleep when Sam came back from work, both of them sprawled together on the bed. Now Tom nods off again in the car seat as they take the Ashford Road, passing garden centers, small industrial estates housing soft play zones, motor home dealers, stands of scrappy-looking trees.

She’s wearing the first decent blouse she could find and her maternity jeans, the ones with the huge black waistband. An old cardigan on top. She could have done better. Should have done better. “So is anyone else going to be there?”

“I don’t think so. Just Tamsin and Mark.”

“What is it he does again?”

“He’s got a company. Agricultural machinery. He’s doing really well.” Sam turns to her. “He might invest in a restaurant. He’s got the cash. We’ve talked about it for years.”

She tries to remember Mark’s face but cannot quite picture it. She’s only met him once since the wedding, the time they came down to see the house. But everything then was a blur. “How long have they been married?”

“Forever. They got together at school.” He turns to her, a small tightness at the edge of his mouth. “They’re lovely people. Really. Just stay away from politics and you’ll be fine.”

She nods, smiles, circling the spider at her wrist with her finger.

They turn up a country lane with large houses on either side, past a huge fruit wholesaler where even at this time of the day forklifts roam around the facility. Pulling up at a wooden gate, Sam presses the button on an intercom. There is a buzz and the gate slides open. A black Land Rover Defender sits in the driveway. Sam parks beside it and lifts a sleeping Tom out of the car. They ring the bell, and there is the tinny yap of dogs, the scuttle of claws on a wooden floor, footsteps.

“Sorry we’re late,” says Sam, as his sister opens the door. “We had to get Tom dressed. Then traffic.”

Tamsin is dressed in jeans, heels and a gray sweater. Sequins crust like icicles at her shoulders. She hugs them—brief, angular, fragrant—then shoos them through to the kitchen, where a vastness of shining floor is punctuated by a large granite island. Cate pulls her cardigan tighter around her while Sam hoists Tom and the car seat onto the dining table. Three large black pendant lights hang suspended above it. On the wall, a sign reads “EAT” in large wooden letters, as though without it Mark and Tamsin and their two children might forget what this side of the room is for.