John had not been exaggerating about his family being ‘full-on’. Robyn had been overwhelmed initially by the hot crush of parents and siblings and their partners crammed into a flock-wallpapered living room in Bishopthorpe, all talking in loud voices and taking the mick out of each other, hooting with laughter at old shared jokes and reminiscences. This was a proper family, she had thought, feeling an ache of envy that she’d never had this herself, growing up. But then in the next minute, Paula, John’s sister, was making introductions and exclaiming in delight as Robyn shyly pressed a pot of winter jasmine into her hands, wishing her a happy birthday. ‘Aren’t you lovely? Thank you, it’s gorgeous!’ And then John’s mum, Jeanie, had bustled over with the pot of tea, urging a scone on her (‘Just out of the oven!’) and they were all so nice, so friendly and welcoming, that Robyn felt herself unfurling amidst their easy warmth.

She’d seen another side of John too: the loving son, giving his mum a squeeze and helping clear away the dishes; the big brother, asking after his siblings; the kind, attentive host, who made sure Robyn had a good time and kept the conversation flowing. ‘They loved you!’ he had said afterwards, back in his car, as they drove away, and she’d felt happiness soar inside her, as if she’d passed some crucial test. Maybe John wasn’t out of her league after all. Maybe being herself was going to be okay, if it meant his family liked her.

The weeks of dating had turned into months, and Robyn felt as if the colours and sounds in her world had been turned up, brighter and noisier; experiencing and appreciating life with more exuberance and intensity than ever before. The Mortimers were big on spending time together, she had quickly realized, and it had been a summer of barbecues and parties, day-trips to the Dales and the coast, meeting John’s cousins and aunts and uncles, with all of them telling her: Oh, it was about time John settled down, and Oh, what a lovely couple they made, and teasing John about how he should hurry up and get a ring on her finger quick, she was far too good for the likes of him. Robyn blossomed with the compliments and jokes, had been flattered when Paula asked her along to her hen night, had been faint with relief when she’d cooked a roast dinner for John’s parents and Jeanie had pronounced it ‘Not bad at all’.

And then, in September, it was Robyn’s birthday and John had said, again with that slight air of sheepishness, ‘Um, Mum wants to do a party tea for you sometime this weekend. Family tradition. Is that okay?’