An unpleasant surprise was a visit from Shirley, during the afternoon. When the doorbell rang, Marianne thought it might be Jake arriving earlier than he had promised.

‘I know you weren’t expecting me,’ said her cousin, ‘but there’s no need to grimace! And you still look the mess you always did when there was no special reason for you to look nice,’ she added, eyeing Marianne’s crumpled jeans and baggy shirt.

‘You, on the other hand, look even more sour than usual,’ Marianne countered.

‘Well, I’ve never had your capacity for laughing off the rotten tricks life’s played on me.’

‘Hiding my feelings with a smile, you mean.’

‘But you’ve never spared mine, have you? And why are you keeping me standing in the hall?’

While Shirley followed her into the living room, Marianne crossed her fingers lest Jake arrive before she left.

Jake had found it impossible to be on easy terms with Shirley – which qualifies him for membership of a big club, thought Marianne. All he needed, Marianne too, was for Shirley to catch him dropping in here!

Shirley glanced around the room disapprovingly, before removing some magazines from the armchair they were occupying and sitting down. ‘Nobody would think you were your mother’s daughter, Marianne.’

‘The same could be said of Laura.’

‘Is that some kind of insult?’

‘It’s just a statement of fact. Unlike you, Shirley, I’ve never thought that children are obliged to be replicas of their parents. Nor that parents are entitled to harbour expectations. Those who do have themselves to thank if they end up bitterly disappointed.’

‘You think you know it all, don’t you?’

‘On the contrary, Shirley, my philosophy is you’re never too old to learn. And I’m still learning.’

‘I didn’t come here for a lecture, Marianne. Or to be put down!’

‘Why did you come? We’ve known each other too long for you to beat about the bush with me.’

‘And only once did I fool myself that we were friends as well as cousins.’

Remembrance of herself and Shirley when they were wartime evacuees returned to Marianne. A couple of miserable kids marooned together in the care of a dour Welshwoman.

‘You were always better at doing sums than me – how old were we when we shared that grim experience?’ she asked Shirley wryly.

‘Thirteen, I think. And grim it certainly was! Whenever I smell carbolic soap, I remember the old dragon washing our hair under that cold water pump in the yard.’

‘My most vivid recollection,’ said Marianne, ‘is of the hours we spent on that little pebbled beach.’

‘You scribbling stories and me sketching fashion designs.’

‘That was when I decided what I was going to be.’