‘I don’t know, sweetie.’

‘Oh, oh, oh,’ she groans.

‘Emmy.’

‘I’m not walking.’

‘Come on, Emmy, you have to.’

‘I don’t and I won’t.’

‘Then I’ll have to leave you here.’

‘Fine fine fine. Leave me then just leave me here to die TO DIE do you hear?’

‘Listen, Emmy.’ I drop to my knees. ‘Think about it. You could be doing what every other five-year-old in the world is doing, you could be finishing your homework or having a bath or arguing about going to bed, you could be having a day like any other day, like everybody else’s day and you’d never remember it. But today is different, so it doesn’t matter if you get cold or tired because you’ll be dry and warm in a couple of hours. You’ll get home and you’ll have hot chocolate and you’ll remember tonight for the rest of your life, because tonight we had a big adventure.’ This rousing speech nearly brings tears to my own eyes. Unfortunately, Emmy remains unmoved.

‘A couple of hours!’ she says. ‘No way, no way.’ She shakes her head slowly.

‘Oh, God. Emmy, please.’

‘Emmy, come on, I’m cold too.’ Effortlessly, Jack raises her to her feet, then taking the limp end of her fleecy sleeve begins leading her along the road as though she were a small petulant donkey.

‘There was an Iranian monk,’ he recites, ‘who went to bed in a bunk, he dreamed that Venus, was tickling his penis—’

‘Jack!’ I say, mildly shocked.

‘And woke up all covered in—’

‘Jack!’

‘Sweat!’ he shouts.

‘Jack! My God! Where did you learn that?’

‘Jack said penis,’ Emmy gurgles. ‘Jack said penis.’

‘That’s unbelievable. Who taught you that?’

‘Can’t remember,’ he shrugs warily.

‘Well, it’s great. Do you know any more?’

‘Of course I do. I know lots.’

‘There was a young plumber of Dee.’ He begins reciting again. ‘Who was plumbing a girl by the sea.’

‘Okay, Jack . . . er . . . maybe that’s enough. I glance at Emmy, who’s now skipping happily along the road . . . ‘but, you know . . . thank you, I whisper.

‘Whatever,’ he says.

‘Did you learn these at school?’

‘No.’

‘Where then?’

‘Don’t remember.’

‘You must remember.’

‘Don’t.’

‘Granny taught us,’ Emmy pipes up.

‘Wha-at!’ My heart whacks against my ribs.

‘You stupid!’ Jack pinches Emmy’s arm.

‘I’m sorry,’ Emmy begins sobbing. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

I whip her round to face me. ‘What do you mean, Granny! Which Granny?’ But I already know which granny. Robert’s mother, a formidable eighty-year-old Austrian, died several months ago, and it is only because Robert has finally begun unravelling the legal complexities of her estate that he cannot be here.

‘Granny, my mother Granny?’ I confirm.

Jack nods.

‘But where . . . how?’

‘She came to Grampa’s, on the train. She brought us presents.’ Jack hangs his head.