They sat on a bench and watched a dog walker, five dogs tangling in leads around his feet, four coming to perfect obedience when he barked, “Sit!” and one confused, still spinning, yapping, not understanding why the fun must stop.

Karen thumbed her wedding ring, her flesh long since grown too spongy for it to spin round her finger, the action of pressing against the diamond an unconscious, ancient thing. Harmony waited, the feeling of despair already settling over her soul, for if this anxiety meant one thing it was that Karen wanted to Talk Seriously.

At last, a sudden blurt: “I always thought that I should have done better with my life.”

Harmony hesitated, the dry retorts that she had prepped withering. These were not words she had expected from her mother.

“I mean, it’s a difficult one, isn’t it? Not everyone can be a superstar, or an astronaut or anything like that, I mean, that’s not realistic, that’s not how life works. There is a lot of dignity, a lot of honour, isn’t there, in coming to terms with your reality? In learning to accept where you are being at peace with it, at peace with yourself, I mean? When your father died, I thought . . . But it’s about what matters to you now. How you comport yourself. I have always tried to be a good mother, and a good friend. I mean, kind to my friends, always thoughtful, that’s very important isn’t it? And a lot of famous people I don’t think are kind, and that’s a pity. I mean, there’s no point having money or looks if you’re . . . ”

She stopped dead. Stared at nothing. Fumbled at the ring.

Harmony’s face burned, and she was grateful for the cold, autumn wind.

Then: “And of course, sometimes I just think . . . what a fucking stupid fucking mess we’re in. And I’m really angry, and I hate myself for not doing better, for me, but also for you, for not giving you something better, and think we should just go and burn something down, but I can’t work out what.”

Now Harmony gaped, turning to stare astonished at her mum, body and eyes all angled in the direction of the older, slouching woman. Karen smiled, gave a little, half-hearted shrug. “It’s just a feeling, isn’t it? You mustn’t let these things get to you. You just have to cope.”

“What?”

“Well, with all the things that happen – and I know this isn’t the life you wanted – but with all the things that happen I do genuinely think, I mean, after a long time thinking about it – but I genuinely believe that you just have to accept the lot you’ve got, and deal with it. Muscle through. You’re such a strong person. As long as you’re still a good person on the inside.”

This is Harmony Meads, listening to life wisdom.

Listening to her mother’s placid, flaccid, useless, stupid fucking life wisdom.