‘Sounds very dramatic,’ she commented now, running her thumbnail along another peapod and glancing through the open back doors to check on Sam (silent and unmoving in the hammock) and Daisy (crouched in concentration, painstakingly building an obstacle course for woodlice down by the shed). The day was overcast but whenever the breeze did occasionally stir, it would waft in scent from the frothing white gardenias and bee-sodden lilies outside, reminding you that it was actually midsummer. This red-brick Harrogate house was where Robyn had spent the second half of her childhood after the big move; if she shut her eyes, she could be fifteen and doing her science homework at this very table, humming distractedly to Radio 1 in the background.

A pea skidded between her fingers, bouncing down onto the floor, and Robyn bent to retrieve it just as her mum asked, ‘So John’s okay, is he, apart from being called in for this mysterious family meeting? What’s all that about, anyway?’

Good question. ‘I’m not sure,’ Robyn replied. There had been a phone call from Harry first thing, requesting that John join the rest of the Mortimers at his and Jeanie’s house for a ‘family war cabinet’, and Robyn had been a bit taken aback at the urgency in her father-in-law’s voice. She hoped everything was all right. ‘It’s probably a post-mortem of the party, but I can’t see why that would be so important,’ she went on. ‘Especially as Harry and Jeanie are off on this second honeymoon of theirs this afternoon. Sorry,’ she added, with a glance over at her mum, hoping she hadn’t taken John’s absence as too much of a snub. ‘Hopefully, he can still join us, if they sort whatever it is out quickly. Otherwise . . .’

Alison waved a hand to signal that she would survive the disappointment. ‘And how was the party? Was it a good one?’ she asked. She had been invited, of course, but Robyn had had to pass on her apologies as usual. (‘Is everything all right with your mum?’ Jeanie had asked in concern. ‘She never comes along to any of our get-togethers. I haven’t seen her for . . . goodness, it must be two years!’)

‘Well,’ said Robyn, trying to conceal her irritation as she remembered how awkward she’d felt at that moment, ‘you could have seen for yourself, if you hadn’t been too busy watching the telly. You know –’ she hesitated, trying to find the right words – ‘I think Jeanie was a tiny bit offended that you didn’t come, Mum.’