‘Well, let’s just say the modern form of Judaism removes the necessity for me to feel guilty. Some who are nominally orthodox and show contempt for Reform think nothing of driving on the Sabbath, if they’re invited to a Bar Mitzvah at a synagogue not within walking distance. I used to do it myself and park my car where it wouldn’t be seen, along with the rest, and it made me feel a hypocrite.’

‘I expect I’d feel like you once did if I secretly ate meat on a Friday,’ said her grandson, reminding her he was a Catholic. ‘And my dad still calls cereal “the necessary”. We sometimes sit in the kitchen feeding our faces while Mum’s in the living room immersed in a book. That’s when we have our chats.’

Though the closeness between Martin and his son was a warming thought for Marianne, it was tempered by the knowledge of their alliance against Moira.

Moira’s having brought the situation upon herself made matters no easier. She must surely know that A.P.’s increasing involvement with his father’s family had not caused his Catholicism to falter. Marianne had come to realize that what Moira feared was the family itself.

And the more A.P. comes towards us, the further Moira retreats from us, she reflected, watching the boy spread butter and jam on yet another piece of matzo. Marianne could not recall the last time she had seen her daughter-in-law. Pressure of work is sometimes a useful excuse, though I’ve never employed it with Moira.

‘May I have an apple, too, Gran?’

Marianne’s reply was the one that she and Shirley had years ago received from Sarah Sandberg, when they asked permission to help themselves to fruit from the bowl on her table.

‘Have whatever you like. This is your second home.’

‘Do you really mean that, Gran?’

‘You should know by now, A.P., that I don’t say what I don’t mean.’

‘I was just making double-sure.’

‘Is it that important to you?’

Marianne scanned his expression, aware that he was thinking carefully before replying. Keeping her waiting like Ralph used to do when they were discussing something that mattered. An attribute that skipped a generation, since Martin like me is inclined to rush in where angels fear to tread.

Only once had he notably not done so. On the sultry evening that heralded the end of the baking hot summer that took Britain by surprise in 1969.