“So, Cyndi!” Suze exclaims in animation. “How many children did you say you have?”

“You should choose some drawings to take home,” adds Ulla, holding up her sketchpad. “Have a look.”

“Oh, yes!” encourages Danny. “See this one of you in my jacket? Divine!”

“Goodness!” says Cyndi in delight. “May I really? Oh, I look so elegant….I only have one child,” she continues to Suze. “My one precious gift. And you? You have kids?”

Rebecca is standing in the far doorway now. Not moving, not waving, not speaking. Just standing, waiting to be noticed.

My eyes are fixed on Corey. He’s listening to Tarquin…he’s gazing absently up at the ceiling…he’s frowning with slight impatience….And then, as his gaze drifts past Tarkie, past Cyndi, his whole face jerks with horror.

OK. He’s seen her.

If I was hoping for a reaction, I’m not disappointed. His eyes have gone all starey. The color has drained from his cheeks. He looks like he’s in a nightmare. In fact, he looks so ill, I almost feel sorry for him, loathsome as he is. This man has tried so hard to airbrush out his past. He’s had a facelift. He’s lied about his age. He’s denied his friends. He doesn’t want the past to exist. But here it is, standing in front of him in a floaty purple dress and kohled eyes.

For a moment Rebecca just surveys him, with that witchy, catlike gaze she has. And then, silently, she prepares to hold up the signs. We made them together, with cardboard and a Sharpie, and checked that they would be legible.

(I didn’t get this bit from Ocean’s Eleven. It’s from Love Actually. Suze said, “Why don’t we rechristen it Becky Actually for the occasion,” but that makes no sense. Anyway. Not the point right now.)

The first sign just says:

Hi, Corey.

She holds it in place for a few seconds—then replaces it with her second sign:

Long time.

And somehow the contemptuous way she’s looking at Corey gives those two words real bite. Her eyes are fixed on him as she produces the next sign:

I’d love to meet your wife.

Her eyes flick to Cyndi, and Corey’s eyes follow, and I can see the fury pulsing in his face. Only he doesn’t dare make a sound, in case Cyndi notices. He’s trapped. Again.

Chat with her about old times.

Or maybe that’s not such a good idea?

Corey’s face is rigid. He looks like he’s undergoing torture. Well, in a way, he is. And Rebecca’s loving it.

“And what about nurseries, or do you call them preschools here?” I can hear Suze asking Cyndi brightly. “Because it’s so hard to find places in the UK.”

“Tell me about it!” exclaims Cyndi, completely oblivious to the drama going on around her. “And you know, Peyton is super-talented, so…”

What about Brent’s settlement, Corey?

Rebecca practically brandishes the sign at him, then substitutes the next one.

You owe him.

YOU OWE HIM, COREY.