She looked up to where the laths showed in one corner of the ceiling behind a broken lip of plaster, and at the back door listing in its frame and plugged against draughts with twists of newspaper. ‘Better late than never, I suppose.’

Optimistic plans were tumbling in my head. I could help Audrey to fix up her house, maybe even advise her to sell it. She could live in a more manageable flat, not too far away. Jack’s real grandmother had died so long ago, Tony’s parents lived in Canada. Audrey’s wild claim might prefigure a real, valuable relationship.

‘You and Jack get on well …’ I began.

I was going to extend an invitation into the Thompson family. In my fired-up imagination I saw snapshots of Sunday lunches, birthday celebrations, Christmases. A grandmotherly rehabilitated Audrey figured in a rosy group picture of Lola and Jack and, in time, their spouses and children as well.

‘That’s between Jack and me,’ she snapped.

The pictures dimmed, but even as I bit my tongue I knew she was right. She was Jack’s ally in the first place, not mine. You can’t direct other people’s friendships for them, even your children’s. If there was going to be a connection between Audrey and me, it would come later, and it would have to grow of its own accord. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry,’ I said humbly.

Audrey seemed mollified. ‘You mean well, Sadie,’ she conceded.

And that would have to stand as our first, teetering step towards friendship.

My cup was empty and so was hers. ‘Shall I pour you another?’

‘No, thank you. I’m having a sort-out. I’ve got to get on with it.’

That was my cue and I took it. I put my arm, very briefly, round Audrey’s shoulders and withdrew before she could nudge me away. ‘I’ll be getting back home. Maybe Jack’ll pop over later, or tomorrow. If you want a hand with anything.’ The words sounded so ordinary, after the exchange of such momentous information. Involuntarily my eyes slid to the pocket where she had stowed her marriage certificate.

She covered it up with her hand. ‘I don’t know how all the rubbish piles up,’ she said.

‘Thank you for telling me the truth,’ I added, but she didn’t reply.

She walked down the hallway behind me and let me out of the front door. It closed firmly.

I walked back up the street, past Tim’s and Gavin’s front door, towards the grim concrete ramparts of the Ullswater.