Edna has gone on far longer than anyone predicted, but Lily knows that’s her fault as well. She would have stopped struggling long ago if not for Lily. She’s so lucky to have had her all these years. When she thinks back to how things were when . . . there’s a knock at the door.

“Who the devil can that be?” says Mam. “At this hour?” She looks at Lily. “Well, answer it then.” Lily pulls herself up out of the chair, her insides complaining where she’s still sore. “And don’t let them in,” Mam shouts. “I’m hardly dressed for visitors.” There’s nothing wrong with the way she’s dressed, of course, a floral housecoat, perfectly respectable, even at this late hour.

Lily doesn’t recognize the dark shape visible on the other side of the frosted panel but curiously feels no fear at opening the door at almost nine o’clock at night. Funny, really, since fear seems to be all she does feel these days. She wrenches the door open.

She recognizes the woman straightaway, of course. And yet . . . it can’t be. It’s as though her mind won’t accept it. “Ed-na?”

“Well? Are you going to let me in, or not? It’s got to be a good ten degrees cooler up here than in London.”

“Oh, Edna,” she cries, and hugs her fiercely.

“All right, all right, give me a chance to get through the door.” But for all of the sting in her words she hugs Lily back just as hard.

The introductions are brief; Mam can’t wait to get away, perhaps embarrassed to have been caught less than proper. But even so, something passes between them. It’s as though in that brief introductory meeting, Edna still in her coat, cheeks flushed with cold, her mother clutching her housecoat up to her neck, they reach an understanding.

“Well,” says Mam, as jolly as Lily has heard her in weeks, “I’ll leave you girls to catch up. Oh, Lillian, make sure you put some clean sheets on for Edna. I’ll not have her saying we’re slovenly in the North. And mind you keep to your side!” She stands and addresses Edna. “I hope you sleep soundly. She’s all elbows, this one.” And with that she’s away to bed, and they can really talk.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to meet your mother,” Edna says. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

“It’s just . . . I mean, I hadn’t heard anything.”

“I wrote. Several times.”

“I’ve been away,” she says.

“Yes,” says Edna. “I know.”

The silence stretches away from them until finally Edna speaks again. “Your Auntie Vi said to say hello. I still see her sometimes, in the shelter under the theater. We were all sorry to hear about your father.”