‘Beryl being Beryl, she’d made me so mad over something I can’t even remember, and before I could control myself, I’d blurted everything out to her, my torment and my guilt. She just stood there and took it all. Then she told me that life was tough but I was tougher. That this little baby that I didn’t know what to do with would make me happy, but first, you’d make me strong. Beryl came to the house every day after your father left for work and cleaned the place and changed your nappies and bathed you. Most days, she also forced me into the tub to wash. She’d leave before your father got home. She did this for a few months until, one day, I told her she could stop coming. As if by magic, I felt okay again. Beryl never breathed a word to anyone. Not even, after all these years, with me.’

‘Mummy, I never knew,’ I say, overcome with emotion.

‘Oh, dear, there was nothing for you to know. You’re a blessing and a joy to me and your father. My point is, over all our years of friendship, Beryl has mostly been a crotchety old thorn in everyone’s backside. But when I needed someone, she was there. That’s what friendship is, dear. It’s about who shows up. Since Beryl became a widow, I’ve tried to return the favour.’

‘Mummy, that’s lovely.’

‘It’s love.’

‘With Beryl, tough love, nonetheless?’ I laugh.

‘Yes.’ She laughs too.

‘What if it’s Faith who makes it hard, sometimes, to be me?’

‘Jealousy is only poisoning yourself, Grace. The Faith I know has always been your biggest cheerleader. I’m sure there’s no good reason to compare.’

I ruminate on this the rest of the evening.

Something I know I need to fix inside myself.

The next morning, I’m regaling Liz with the story of Lucy fellating my finger during the show. Liz is absolutely tickled.

‘From the simple days of Gracie Porter’s Gourmet Get-Together,’ she muses, finishing her tea. ‘Goodness, it’s got my juices flowing again. Such tales you tell me these days, Gracie. I look forward to writing this week’s column.’ As Liz chuckles, her face wrinkles most attractively. ‘Shall we order wine?’ she asks, apropos of nothing.

‘Oh? I’ve, um, been trying to abstain.’

‘Another Earl Grey then?’

‘I said trying, Liz.’ I smile. ‘To be honest, I could do with a wine.’

‘If I’m not poorly influencing you?’

I order us two glasses of Pinot Grigio without delay. When the waitress delivers them to our table up the back, Liz enquires, ‘Any particular reason you’re in need of a drink?’

‘We’re off the record?’

‘Completely,’ Liz assures me. ‘Whatever you’re comfortable sharing.’

I sip slowly. Liz has always been good to me. I trust her and I value her opinion.