Mark looked very pleased with himself, and more so as the evening went on. The proud father-to-be. Everything was going his way, wasn’t it? Mum was looking at him adoringly, and Ellie was thrilled, and even I was being less objectionable than usual. The new softer, sweeter, slightly drunker, more daughterly me.

At the end of the meal Mum asked for a herbal tea and I had a decaffeinated coffee, which was probably not a very French choice – France so far was all about things being the strongest possible version of themselves, the reddest wine, the crustiest bread, the bluest sea and sky, nothing pale or weak or wishy-washy like the colours and flavours back home. But so what if the French waiter thought I was unsophisticated and bland and English? I didn’t want anything that was going to wake me up. I was up for a big long sleep, and not having to think about anything for a bit.

My coffee came with a little round chocolate wrapped in green foil, and I gave it to Ellie, who hadn’t ordered anything.

‘You two get along pretty well, don’t you?’ Mark said.

‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far,’ I said as Ellie peeled the foil off the chocolate and popped it in her mouth.

She ate it slowly and thoughtfully, then delivered her verdict: ‘You’re probably not the worst big sister it’s possible to have.’

‘It would help if we didn’t share a room,’ I said.

‘Well, we should be able to do something about that,’ Mark said. ‘But really, I’d say you cope with it pretty well. I mean, it’s not as if you’re at each other’s throats.’

‘You sound like you expect siblings not to get on,’ I said to Mark.

‘Well, they don’t always, do they? From what I can tell.’ He glanced at Mum. ‘Your mother’s a case in point.’

‘Amanda and I are just very different,’ Mum said.

She’d fallen out with our aunt Amanda after Grandma’s funeral, but didn’t like to talk about it. Perhaps that was what prompted Ellie to pipe up and ask Mark, ‘Do you have a brother or sister?’

‘No. I don’t have any relatives. Apart from my mother.’

Ellie’s face took on that strange look she had sometimes, like someone gazing at weather that none of the rest of us could see. In the olden days they’d said that people who weren’t quite right in the head were touched. That was how Ellie looked: touched.

She said, out of the blue, ‘They hurt her.’

There was silence round the table. Mark stared first at Ellie, then at Mum, who raised her hands in a gesture of hopelessness. He cleared his throat. ‘Ellie, nobody hurt my mother. Nobody would dare.’

I said, ‘When are we going to meet her?’

‘Soon, I hope,’ Mark said. He attempted a smile; it came across as lukewarm. ‘She’s already heard a lot about you all.’

I said, ‘Does she know you’re getting married?’