A moment of silence followed and Carla’s friend, though not a member of the family, could not have sensed something unspoken having evoked it. Diane’s long seclusion, and the reason for it, was such that she might not have made the transition back into the world without Ronald’s help.

‘I’m so sorry Moira wasn’t free to come today,’ Carla said to Marianne. ‘Martin told me she’s just been promoted to editorial director. I’m really pleased for her.’

And would that Marianne’s daughter-in-law were the friendly, uncomplicated young woman that Carla was, reading no more into Moira’s sending her regrets than the face value.

‘It would have been nice, if things hadn’t gone wrong for Howard, to have had Christina here, too,’ Carla added. ‘I liked her.’

‘Well,’ said Ann, ‘you’ll soon be a rebbetzen, won’t you? – a rabbi’s wife must be charitable to everyone.’

The cry of Mazeltov then issued through the wall and Carla said tremulously, ‘Thank God the surgery is over.’

While they listened to the men praying in unison, Marianne’s thoughts remained with Moira and Christina, to whom the family came to seem a threat: I can see how en masse they would find us overpowering, but we can’t help being how we are, it’s bred in us. For Jews family is as important as our religious rituals. Why else would I stand by Shirley when necessary, and she by me? I seem to remember, the night Ralph died, her appearing as if from nowhere and sitting holding my hand. And me letting her! Nor could Marianne doubt that Shirley’s sympathy was on that occasion genuine. Family loyalty was a deepening enigma to Marianne.

It was Nathan who returned the infant to Carla and with mixed feelings placed her firstborn in her arms. The irony of his granddaughter and David’s grandson marrying had not escaped him. How ironic too that their love was responsible for another David Sandberg entering the family. The baby had been given David’s name, and would henceforth be a reminder to Nathan that love was more productive than hate.

The elder David, though, had anglicized his surname. While Nathan sipped the wine someone had handed him, listening with half an ear to the genial mohel relaying a tale to Alan and the fellow rabbinical students helping him celebrate, he allowed himself to journey backward in time.

To one of the most heated family rows he could remember, and many there had been. That one had taken place in the kitchen of his parents’ home and he was sure his mother was present. But for some reason she was not part of this memory. Only his father, seated in the rocking chair by the fire.