It’s like uttering a blasphemy. I don’t think I have ever deliberately made such a choice before, let alone articulated it. In this instant I feel free and powerful and – in spite of all the pain I cause and feel – I am happy.

My father shakes his head. ‘That’s not the point. You’re a mother. Your responsibility is to these two and then to your husband.’

The hypocrisy makes me gasp. I stand with my hands hanging loose at my sides, staring at him.

He does disapprove and he makes no attempt to hide it, even though he has always dismissively referred to Tony as ‘your whatsit … accountant’ and on the other hand considers Stanley a man’s man, a proper chap. He is going to condemn me for daring to please myself even though, as it seems to me at this moment, he has consulted his own inclinations all his life.

But you do what you want and always have, I want to shout at him. Isn’t anyone else allowed to do the same? Yet I don’t shout, or even speak.

In the silence that follows, the last drops of my longing for his approval turn to chips of ice.

In the end it is Ted who breaks it. He says sorrowfully to Jack, ‘Come on, then, old son. That’s enough of that. Let’s you and me go out in the garden and look at the birds.’

He probably didn’t say exactly those words. But I know he took Jack outside, and Lola shot me a look that was pure bewilderment veiled with belligerence before she slammed out of the room as well.

I’m sure neither of the children remembers that day and it’s quite likely that Ted didn’t either. But after that I was always angry with him. We were cordial to each other, there was almost nothing that was different, not on the surface, but I cut him off. I became implacable.

I finally knew that I was on my own, instead of wishing and longing to be otherwise and all the time coming up against the brick wall of disappointment. The understanding helped me to survive the loss of Stanley. In the end, when enough time had passed, I even felt a kind of gratitude for my independence. I was strong because I reckoned I was invulnerable – as long as I had Lola and Jack, and the company of friends.

I wanted to tell Ted all about this when I drove up to his bedside, but I never found the words. I should have explained that I was wrong to be angry, because we all do things wrong and we are all flawed. Even my glamorous father, the perfumer and con artist, whom I wished to be perfect. I wanted to tell him that I regretted my selfishness. But it was too late.