‘You want some gas?’ asked Kirsty. The bottle, industrial black, was at hand’s reach on the covers.

‘Just the inhaler, dear.’ Larry passed it to her, watched her spray it twice into her mouth; the inadequate in-breath followed by the inevitable, miserable coughing. He slid his arms beneath her shoulders and righted her. She stood, leaning her head against his chest, then they shuffled on to the landing.

‘I’ll go get Ella to wash her hands,’ said Kirsty.

Larry asked: ‘How do you want to do this?’

‘Slowly,’ said Alice. ‘Very slowly.’

The stairs were too narrow for them to descend side by side, so Larry went in front of her, and by keeping two steps below her she could hold on to his shoulders. Her arms were trembling, a feeble electricity that Larry felt through the whole length of his body. When they reached the dining room the others were standing by their chairs, waiting.

‘Here I am,’ she whispered.

Larry guided her to her chair at the head of the table. Alec had found the candles and set them in their silver stems, but the flames, paler than the light that came through the windows, barely showed.

It took another five minutes to get her settled, a cushion wedged behind her back, a linen napkin tucked into the collar of her dress. Sometimes, as she moved, she let out a low, involuntary moan.

‘Hey,’ said Kirsty, ‘don’t you think Alice’s hair looks great? I wish I had someone like Toni at home. Doesn’t her hair look great, Alec?’

‘Yes,’ said Alec. ‘Toni’s very good.’

‘Oh, he doesn’t know,’ said Alice. ‘Everything’s a mystery to him, poor soul...’

She looked at Alec, who had the place on her left. Larry, serving out the risotto, noted it: another of those exchanges he had seen three or four times during the last week, part of some on-going wordless discussion between them. Something he was outside of. He didn’t like it.

‘I hope you’re going to eat this, El.’ He put a spoonful of the sticky rice on to her plate, passed it to her and sat opposite. ‘Bon appétit, everyone! You see, Mum, I learned that much.’

‘Ella’s been learning some cute French songs at school,’ said Kirsty. ‘What’s the name of your teacher, honey? They start the kids real early.’

‘Is this a mushroom?’ asked Ella, holding up a grey comma on the tines of her fork.

‘Yes,’ said Larry. ‘A special kind of delicious mushroom. Try it.’

Ella scraped the mushroom on to the rim of her plate and started picking out the others.

‘Ella!’ He turned to Kirsty. ‘Make her eat something, will you.’

‘You mean force her?’

‘I mean she’s old enough not to play with her food like that.’

‘So she doesn’t like mushrooms. It’s not a major failure, Larry.’