Neither could have known that the date they set would be recorded in twentieth-century history under the heading ‘Chernobyl’. And for Marianne that date was to prove doubly memorable.

Meanwhile the busy pattern of her days continued. The synopsis on which she had been working when Arnold called was approved by her editor, and once again she gave herself to the gestation that preceded the birth of a book.

Her grandson had made good use of the latchkey she had given him. There were times when Marianne was so immersed in her work she did not hear A.P. enter the flat, and would later find him eating a snack in the kitchen, or doing his homework in the living room.

Eventually the frequency of his visits began to worry her. Visits they’re not, she finally accepted. A refuge was what her home had become for him.

Nor was there any longer the pretence that Marianne had even a non-relationship with her daughter-in-law. They never saw each other, and if Marianne rang up and Moira answered the phone the few words she uttered were cursory indeed.

When Martin dropped in, he would talk about his work and Marianne about hers, as they always had. They chatted about A.P. too, but when had Martin last mentioned Moira? When had Marianne last mentioned her? It was as if by tacit consent they avoided a subject painful to both.

On an evening when A.P. had sought refuge yet again, Marianne asked herself how her grandmother might have handled the situation. Marianne, though, had never been the manipulator that Sarah was.

‘My mum’s at church and I don’t know why she doesn’t take her bed there,’ A.P. had said when he arrived. ‘And Dad of course is at Uncle Andy’s, working as usual.’

It was now an empty house that the lad was escaping from. She watched him make short work of his third helping of cornflakes. Well, at least it wasn’t affecting his appetite.

‘I wouldn’t mind moving in with you, Gran,’ he said.

That did it! Someone must give Moira a talking-to and it would have to be Marianne. Martin could use one, too. The way things were looking, what was there to lose?

Moira awaited with some trepidation her mother-in-law’s arrival at the restaurant, wishing that she herself had not arrived too early. But the days when she would calculatedly have kept Marianne waiting were long gone.

She could remember discussing with Rhoda Frolich, when they were newlyweds, how best to handle their mothers-in-law. But where had tactics and trying to assert themselves got them?