‘I won’t go on, dear. One thing quickly. Beryl is hosting another of her famous murder-mystery dinner parties. Your father is refusing to come with me. He says he doesn’t like to dress up, which is nonsense as he never bothers anyway. He also called Beryl an awful gossip and grumbled that life is too short to spend it not enjoying himself.’

‘Beryl is a bit poisonous, Mummy,’ I point out gently. ‘You’ve said as much yourself.’

‘She’s also someone I’ve known a long time, dear. I worry about her since Gerald passed. These dinners might be the thing that keeps her going…’ Beryl’s long-suffering husband, Gerald, died of a coronary last New Year’s Eve. He dropped dead in front of everyone at the party they were hosting. Because of Beryl’s famous murder-mystery dinners, there was, apparently, a moment where everyone assumed Gerald’s clasping of his chest and falling to the floor was part of an elaborate script. My mother told me it took several moments, and Beryl fainting to the floor, before anyone rushed to help. Sadly, to no avail. Why on earth Beryl insists on throwing such dinner parties still is anyone’s guess. My mother trails off somewhere. ‘Would you come with me, dear? It’s a few weeks away, the first Saturday in February. You could stop the night, if you like?

I don’t need to check if I have anything on. Ignoring last night, I don’t go out often any more. I could easily tap Faith up for a night out if I desired, but, these days, I’m such a homebody. Aside from giving her grandchildren before she passes, my mother rarely asks me for anything. Of course I’ll go with her.

‘Okay.’

‘Okay you’ll come?’ My mother’s voice is tinged with delight.

‘If you let me get off the phone right now, Mother dearest, yes, okay I’ll come.’

‘Oh, we’ll have such a laugh. Oh, I am looking forward to it. Now, will Jordan stop with your father at home?’ she prattles on gaily. ‘I can make up the sofa bed for him. It’s not a problem. I’ll make a roast on Sunday, and perhaps you can both join us on our walk?’