‘We’ll have champagne, shall we?’ she cried. ‘I’ve got a couple of bottles chilling.’ She led them through to the kitchen and there on the table were bottles of very expensive champagne sitting in an ice bucket. Anna wondered if she’d bought in the bucket especially for the occasion – Jackie had taken to internet shopping with gusto. But probably not. Champagne was routinely drunk in the Clouston household for every birthday and anniversary. Jackie put her arm round her son. ‘Come on now, Ronald, open a bottle for me.’

Anna thought Ronald was going to object. She saw him tense within Jackie’s embrace, then wriggle free from her. But in the end the habit of fulfilling Jackie’s expectations was too strong for him to refuse. Entering into the spirit of the occasion, he wrapped the bottle in a white napkin to stop it slipping in his hand, twisted the top and gave his mother a brief grin, more like a grimace, when it made a louder pop than he was expecting. But he wouldn’t accept a glass when she was pouring it out.

‘You’ll have a beer, then? Your father never liked this stuff. All the more for you and me, Anna, eh?’

‘I’m not drinking,’ Ronald said. ‘Not after what happened last night.’

Jackie was going to push the matter, but stopped herself just in time. Anna saw the effort that took. The older woman turned away and took a can of Coke from the fridge, handed it to her son.

‘Let’s not talk about that,’ Jackie said. ‘Not tonight. This is supposed to be a party.’ She poured herself another glass of champagne and led them into the dining room.

They didn’t talk about Mima again until they started the pudding, and then it was Jackie who raised the subject. Anna had found herself enjoying the meal. The wine had relaxed her. She must even have become a little drunk, because she realized she was laughing too loudly at a joke Jackie had made. That would never do. She put her hand over her glass when Ronald next offered the bottle to her. Perhaps everything will work out, she thought. Perhaps I can make it work. Jackie too had been drinking heavily throughout. Her face was flushed with the cooking and the responsibility of encouraging them to enjoy themselves.

‘She won’t be missed, you know.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ronald was poised with a spoon in one hand.

Jackie looked up at him. ‘Mima Wilson. She could be a dreadful old gossip. And it was an accident. You mustn’t blame yourself.’

‘Don’t say that.’ Ronald’s voice was steady.

There was a pause while Jackie composed herself. ‘No, you’re right. We mustn’t speak ill of the dead.’ She flashed a look across the table to Anna. We’ll humour the boy. He’s upset.