In the kitchen, Ella and Kirsty baked a cake. They wrote ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA’ in pink icing, and dotted the ‘i’ with a candied lemon diamond. Mrs Samson arrived at midday. She put on an apron, rolled up her sleeves, and made watercress sandwiches and a batch of scones to be eaten with clotted cream and the last of last year’s bramble jelly. When she worked she liked to have the radio on, a station with sing-along music and the local news. The weather forecast was for skies clear all day, temperatures in the mid-seventies, a small chance of rain after dark.

Alec and Larry carried the trestle table from the workroom into the orchard. They set it in its usual place – the bulbs were still strung overhead, pointlessly – and spread it with darned white cloths, then brought out chairs from the dining room, the dark wood and dark leather a little strange and comical in the brightness of the garden, like the men in their frock-coats in Déjeuner sur I’herbe. Larry lit a cigarette and sat at the table. He had been drinking, but not heavily. Alec sat opposite him.

‘The big day,’ said Larry.

Alec nodded. He was dressed in black chinos with a dark collarless shirt. He had his glasses on with the sunshade attachment clipped to the front.

‘Come to America,’ said Larry.

‘OK,’ said Alec.

‘I mean it.’

‘OK.’

‘Stick with family. You could learn to surf. Take yoga classes.’ He chuckled. ‘Ella would love it.’

‘And what would I do there?’

‘The same as here. I doubt you’d even need a green card. You should think about it.’

‘OK.’

‘Seriously.’

‘What about you?’ said Alec. ‘What’s to stop you coming here? You’re not doing the show any more.’

Larry shook his head. ‘I’ve got a couple of other projects cooking.’

‘What sort of projects?’

‘Anyway, I wouldn’t fit in here.’

‘You used to.’

‘I remember.’

‘You used to fit in perfectly.’

‘A thousand years ago.’

‘I thought things were difficult for you over there. I thought that was the point.’

Larry made a face. ‘I’ve thought about it once or twice. But it’s too late for all that. All that coming back shit. I’ve got a house out there. A family! And coming back now would be like saying I’d been wrong all along. That it had all been a mistake.’ He flicked his cigarette away. ‘America’s the only big idea I’ve ever had. If I stop believing in it it’s like I stop believing in happiness or adventure or fuck knows. Great cars, great sex. Love.’ He leaned across the table. ‘America’s my optimistic heart. Do you see?’