‘No, it’s not. It’s a bunch of men with bells tied to their legs poncing about with handkerchiefs.’

‘I blame your father.’

‘For morris dancers?’

‘No. For your inability to commit.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes, well the lack of him, I suppose. You see, if I’d put my mind to it, I could have got myself another husband, but for you and your brother it was different. You couldn’t get yourself a replacement. You especially seem to have found it hard, since you had some memories of your dad.’

‘Oh, Mam.’

‘You’ve grown up rather wary. Sensitive, you know.’

‘It’s too nice a day for this sort of talk.’

‘You expect the worst of people, Howie. Wait for them to leave.’

‘I’m just young. Haven’t met the right girl. You worry too much.’

‘You’ll never fall in love properly, because the moment you’re shaking their hand to say hello, you’re calculating and predicting a retreat. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Very sad.’

He would not have this conversation. ‘Do you want candy floss?’

‘Go on then, I will.’

He stood up and brushed down his trousers. ‘And I’d stay off the cider if I were you.’

‘Cheeky beggar.’ She beamed at her boy. A man towering over her, a silhouette against the bright afternoon sun. ‘I love you, son. I just want you to be happy. That’s all any right-thinking mother wants for her children.’

‘I am happy. Family, friends, football, fame . . . well, a tiny bit of it. What else could I want? It’s all fine, Mam. Honestly. I’m fine. You should worry about Michael.’

‘Why’s that?’ His mother’s face immediately contracted with concern.

‘He’s the ugly one,’ laughed Howard over his shoulder as he headed off to buy candy floss.

9

AFTER ALL, VIVIAN managed to see The Blackest Night, the play that Charles Rushmore had recommended. She thought it rather good; a tale about treachery, infidelity and disappointment. Mrs Foster regretted her choice and decided that in future she’d pay more attention to the reviews before she suggested a jaunt. She kept Vivian close to her side, not that she was straining at her chains of ribbon because, as they’d dreaded, society wasn’t particularly abundant; there were no invitations to visit anyone’s box. Vivian spotted two or three of her friends but they didn’t come over to talk. They squeezed out taut smiles and waved their fans in small, barely detectable movements. By contrast, the young men of her acquaintance – friends of Nathaniel’s – suddenly seemed audaciously attentive. They raised their brows as she passed them in the stalls; an invitation? An exclamation? They bowed, but a little too low, when they approached for conversation. Their flourishes seemed to have a hint of insolence or expectation. Vivian was used to men being in awe of her; courteous, beleaguered or distant. Now they seemed familiar, carefree, presumptuous. It was impossible to ignore the fact that she now carried with her an air that allowed men to expect something. She wanted to believe that they were simply thrilled that the object of her affection had been removed from the game, and they were now able to court her, but it was hard to believe that was the case when twice someone winked at her, leered almost. Colour flooded through her body; an explosive ball in the pit of her stomach blasted through her entire being. She felt her scalp blush and crawl.