Good God, she must know, must have heard me. ‘Perhaps I am rebelling against your joint recklessness,’ he mumbled, confidence crumbling.

‘I think your plan excellent; a stall in the market could be a lot of fun.’ His mother helped herself to marmalade. ‘Who put you up to it?’

‘I thought of it for myself.’

Mrs Bannister raised eyebrows in disbelief and bit her toast. ‘I bet it was Laura Thornby. She loves to meddle and she would have told you about the Kennedys’ loft.’

Claud did not reply; his head was splitting. He wished he could remember exactly what had been said the night before. He glanced covertly at his parent; she looked, he noticed with unease, like someone who, having dived too steeply, comes up for a welcome gasp of air. ‘Did I say anything else?’ he queried.

‘Just your plans for writing, your market stall, and, oh yes, something about Nicholas Thornby which I didn’t catch—’

‘Good God, yes! I remember now, he gave me quite a shock—’

‘Shock?’

‘Well, yes. It’s so peculiar. Laura is exactly like her mother and—’

‘He is exactly like his sister Emily? They are twins.’

‘But Mother, it’s creepy, the three of them look like triplets, it—’

‘Gave you a turn?’

‘God knows why.’

‘God is about the only one who does. One should not of course put the blame on him. More tea?’

Claud did not feel well enough to ask her to elucidate her ambiguity. He was disgusted to see his hand shake as he passed his cup; she had made a fresh pot as she talked. ‘A sure cure,’ she had been in the habit of saying to his father, ‘for a slight binge.’ (Not that Father’s binges were ever slight.)

‘Mother,’ Claud heard himself saying, ‘there is no need really for me to move out. I am sorry I said all that—I can perfectly well stay on here, it’s—’

‘God forbid!’ said Margaret Bannister brusquely.

‘What?’

‘I said, God forbid, darling.’ She looked at her son, hardened her heart. ‘It is not that I don’t love having you, but not permanently. Holidays and visits are nice but,’ here she went quite pink, ‘you are twenty-three and it is rather marvellous to have my house to myself.’

‘And not have people throwing up in the hall.’

‘I was not mentioning that.’

‘Oh.’ So that’s why she looked as though coming up for air. She’d found freedom. Freedom from him. Claud felt betrayed. ‘Were you pleased when Father lit off?’

‘Of course.’

‘Gosh.’ Claud felt awe.

‘I have been thinking of moving for some time. I can get a good price for this house,’ Margaret Bannister said cheerfully.

‘Moving? What about my laundry?’ It was out before he could stop himself.

‘There’s the launderette. There’s what’s she called, Maeve?’

‘Mavis.’

‘Part of the price of independence is dealing with your own dirty linen,’ said Margaret Bannister. She got up and began to clear the table. Watching her, Claud wished that for once he could confide in her; he had always been so careful not to, but now—‘I am very sorry about last night,’ he began.