Jelly paused. With Anna in the mood for domestic yearning, which was fair enough for any girl her age, she didn’t want to reveal the image that the word ‘marriage’ usually conjured for her: a goose-down pillow pressed over the nose and mouth. But to lose Tom… She could still see, too, the possibility she had sacrificed.

‘Since Sep, I just… have had other things I wanted to do,’ she said aloud. ‘And you see, I have a home, and a child – she’s my niece, but I couldn’t love her more if she were my own daughter.’

*

Walking back to the car, Jelly felt weighed down, more by anxiety than by good food. ‘You know, I never ate much when we were young,’ she confessed, to entertain Anna. ‘My father used to tell me I was the ugly one of the three of us. Perhaps I was afraid I’d be even uglier if I put on weight.’

‘Oh Jelly, that’s awful. You’re so gorgeous!’

‘Maybe I was at your age… ’ Jelly smiled, keeping at bay the awareness of her looming big birthday. ‘It’s very funny, really. He used to say I was the ugliest and the best of his daughters. And I always thought that if I believed one part of that, I had to believe the other as well.’

Over central London a crescent moon dangled, seeping out silver. The theatres had not yet finished, so the pavements of Soho were quiet except for a few dark-coated figures walking dogs under the street lamps, which were dimmer than those in surrounding areas because the wattage here was three times lower. Inside the little restaurants, lively with the staff’s Italian and Greek banter, diners were finishing meals and enjoying a smoke over coffee or brandy. Jelly caught snippets of conversation, plus the tip-tip of high heels and walking sticks against the paving stones.