Lina sits down obediently. She must wonder why Melissa is so often on her own and why their house seems empty of friends. Melissa pushes her potatoes to one side. The stark truth is that she doesn’t invite friends around, or go out with them, because her husband doesn’t want her to.

‘I simply want to spend time with my wife at the end of a busy day,’ he’d said, sipping wine. ‘Fair enough, surely?’ She’d nodded, but the days had become weeks, months then years. The friends had stopped phoning, stopped coming round. She touches the peonies that Lina has put in a vase on the table, a splash of scarlet against the grey; the petals feel very soft. The days are different now; there are Sundays to look forward to, conversation and laughter. The whole week feels warmer, richer, more colourful. It must be the same for Izzy.

Melissa smiles at Lina. ‘It seems crazy we don’t know more about your family after all this time, Lina. Tell me about them.’

Lina shakes her head, perhaps she doesn’t understand.

‘Your father, for instance. What does he do?’

‘He is dead,’ Lina says after a pause, turning her head to the window. Melissa puts down her fork, walks around the table and sits next to Lina, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’ She feels guilty for having stirred the memories, guilty for not having discovered them before.

‘The war.’ Lina makes a horizontal movement with her hand, as if sweeping something away.

After a while, Lina gets up and they clear the table together in silence, but one that feels companionable. When they finish Melissa makes two cups of tea. Lina picks hers up with a little bow and walks softly from the kitchen.

Melissa checks her watch, it’s late. Paul will be in bed, waiting. She hurries upstairs in a panic and stands in the shower for a long time, soaping her wrists again and again.

Poppy tells Izzy her secrets because Izzy listens; she says she wants to know all about the family. Izzy thinks Mum doesn’t look after things properly.

‘Look at that ring your mother wears,’ she says. ‘She’s got bits of food stuck in it like she’s been cooking with it on. She doesn’t give a toss about anything. It’s all a mess in your house.’

Poppy nods meekly. They’re in the wood; Izzy’s smoking. She offers one to Poppy but Poppy doesn’t dare.

‘Suit yourself.’ Izzy shrugs. ‘There’s whole boxes of fags in my dad’s office if you change your mind; he’s got a drawer where he keeps secret things, his bottles of booze and stuff. There were knickers in there once, black ones. I bet he has sex on the desk.’ She blows out smoke in a ring.